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per year, $6.00 


f No. i2, February, 1896. 50 cents 



THECENTURY 


RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI 


Q. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK & LONDON 

Entered at New York Post Office as Second Class Matter 



The Hudson Library 


A SERIES OF GOOD FICTION BY AUTHORS FROM EACH 
SIDE OF THE ATLANTIC. 


Published Monthly. Entered as second-class matter. 
Yearly Subscription, $6.00 per volume, paper, 50 cents. 
Published also in cloth ; see separate list. 

1. Love and Shawl-straps. By Annette Lucille Noble. 

Author of “ Uncle Jack’s Executors,” “ Eunice Lathrop, 
Spinster, ’’-etc. 

2. Miss Hurd : An Enigma. By Anna Katharine 

Green, Author of “ The* Leavenworth Case,” “Hand 
And Ring,” “ Marked ‘ Personal,’ ” etc. 

3. How Thankful was Bewitched. By Jas. K. Hosmer. 

Author of “ The Story of the Jews,” etc. 

4. A Woman of Impulse. By Justin Huntly McCarthy. 

5. The Countess Bettina ; The History of an Innocent 

Scandal. By Clinton Ross. Author of “ The Adven- 
tures of Three Worthies,” etc. 

6. Her Majesty. By E. K. Tompkins, Author of “An 

Unlessoned Girl,” etc. 

7. God Forsaken. By Frederic Breton, Author of “A 

Heroine in Homespun,” etc. 

8. An Island Princess. By Theodore Gift, Author of 

“Pretty Miss Bellew,” “ Victims,” etc. 

9. Elizabeth’s Pretenders. By Hamilton A'idd, Author 

of “ Rita,” “ Poet and Peer,” etc. 

10. At Tuxter’s. By G. B. Burgin. 

1 r. Cherryfield Hall : An Episode in the Career of an 
Adventuress. By F. H. Balfour, Author of 'V Dr. 
Mirabel’s Theory,” etc., etc. 

12. The Crime of the Century. By Rodrigues Otto- 
lengui, Author of “ An Artist in Crime,” etc., etc. 

' G. P. , PUTNAM’S SONS, Publishers, 

NEW YORK AND LONDON. 


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WORKS BY R. OTTOLENGUI. 


Bn Brtist in Crime 

j6mo, paper, 50 cts. ; cloth , $1.00 
“ One may safely say that it ranks with the best 
detective novels yet published in this country." — 
Boston Times. 

“ ‘An Artist in Crime ’ is the best detective story 
which has been published in several years.” — New 
Haven Palladium. 

B Conflict of BviOence 

i 6 mo , paper , 50 cts . ; cloth , $1.00 
“ This particular book is the best of its kind, and 
just what its title sets forth. . . . It is a 

masterpiece of consistent theory and will bear 
reading any time and any place.” — Omaha Excelsior . 

B flboDern “WHisarO 

i6mo, paper, 50 cts. ; cloth, $1.00 
“The plot is ingeniously constructed, and the 
book is intensely exciting.” — Saturday Evening 
Gazette, Boston. 

“ The story is ingenious, the characters are dra- 
matic, and the evolution of the plot is natural.” — 
Boston Times. 

Cbe Crime of tbe Centura 

i6mo, paper, 50 CTS. ; cloth, $1.00 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, New York & London. 


Crime of the Century 


BY 

RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI 

1 1 

AUTHOR OF “AN ARTIST IN CRIME,” “A CONFLICT OF EVIDENCE,” ETC. 



/ 


G. P. 



PUTNA 



NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 

Ubc IRnicfccrbocfeer lpress 


Copyright, 1896 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London 


- <• 
* i 

rt C # 


Ubc IRnicbcrbocfccr Trcfs, 1 Hew tftocbclle, 1W. 


A LETTER. 


My Dear Walter : 

Let me ask you to turn back the pages of memory, 
until you reach that one upon which is inscribed the 
record of our first night in camp, on the banks of 
Massabesic. You remember that we named the beauti- 
ful spot “ Idalia,” and you will recall the wondrous 
aurora which so brilliantly illuminated the broad 
expanse of the heavens, which covered us as we rocked 
gently in our boat, waiting vainly for the nibble which 
never came. What a night that was ! We did not catch 
anything ; not even a cold, thanks to our warm cardigans. 
But we gazed upon the gaudy panorama in the skies and 
felt the littleness of self, as man ever must when viewing 
the marvels of Nature. 

But the Northern lights dimmed and died away at last, 
and we talked of lesser things, finally reaching that ever 
absorbing topic, our own work. In time we discussed 
certain stories which I had already published, and I 
remember how severely you criticised what you called 
my — “stupid soaring into the realms of the impossible,” 


IV 


A LETTER. 


— when in your opinion you thought that I ought rather 
to confine myself to — “ the probabilities of everyday life.” 

How often during that holiday did you use the phrase 
“ in all human probability,” till at last we all made jest 
of your habit, when finally you silenced me by saying : 
“ At any rate your stories are not within human 
probability ! ” 

Well, my friend, I have often thought over you-r words, 
even though I have not yet been convinced that the most 
interesting phases of human life are those which are of 
most common occurrence. After all, the main object of 
fiction is to entertain, and even though a little instructive 
lesson may be deftly interwoven with the plot, I fear 
that the modern novel is sometimes too highly spiced 
with philosophic dissertations. And in seeking to enter- 
tain is it not best to offer something out of the common ? 
Something a little different from the dull routine of 
daily experience ? 

I send you herewith a copy of my new story. With 
what zest you will rush through its pages seeking for 
incidents which may not be — “within human probabil- 
ity ! ” But I warn you, that in these pages there are 
hidden many traps for you. The plot is purely fiction, 
but every character has a prototype in life. Those inci- 
dents which you will be most eager to call “ impossible ” 
have all happened. 

You may doubt whether a foundling may become an 
heiress to $5,000,000, and may also develop into a 


A LETTER. 


V 


society lady ; but the original of this character was a 
debutante last season, and the main facts are true. 

You may doubt the possibility of “ The Burglar’s 
Social Union” ; but the floating gambling saloon flour- 
ished in our harbor very recently, and I visited it in 
company with a man who is practically at the head of 
the criminal fraternity of the metropolis. This man is 
a college graduate, has never been arrested, and he 
dominates a great band of “ crooks,” so that however 
implicated he may be in their crimes, they never “ peach,” 
but when convicted serve their sentences, without betray- 
ing this master-hand. On that boat I met at least fifty 
men whom Society would like to see in Sing Sing. 

But I do not intend to point out all the pitfalls for 
you. Go ahead with your search for “ impossibilities ”, 
and when you have found them all, send your list to 
me, and I will gleefully tell you, for your bewilderment, 
which have been borrowed from life. 

Another word. I know that you dislike “ dialect,” and 
I agree with you in the main. Nevertheless “dialect” 
is sometimes essential. It should never be the object of 
the story-teller to show his acquaintance with people 
who distort English, but when an author reaches a local- 
ity where all love of grammar is dead, it would be absurd 
for him to put rounded periods in the mouths of his 
characters. Therefore, excuse the language of my 
“ slum people.” Just one thing more. You may write 
to me that “ slum people ” do not speak even as well as 


VI 


A LETTER. 


I make them, but your views are taken from the Bowery 
tough of Stage-land, and believe me, that in a hundred 
visits to the poverty districts I have never met that ex- 
aggerated individual. 

Very sincerely yours, 

Rodrigues Ottolengui. 


December 26, 1895. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

A Mysterious Case i 

CHAPTER II. 

“Unto the Third and Fourth " — Fingers ... 24 

CHAPTER III. 

Rebecca Polaski’s Story 48 

CHAPTER IV. 

Slippery Sam 63 

CHAPTER V. 

The Ethics of Honest Thievery 76 

CHAPTER VI. 

Set a Thief to Catch a Thief 95 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Plaid Suit of Clothes 113 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mr. Barnes at Work 135 

CHAPTER IX. 


vii 


An Expert Opinion 


148 


CONTENTS. 


viii 

CHAPTER X. 

PAGE 

The Mother of a Born Criminal 161 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Story of Margaret Crane 175 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Mystery of the Will 190 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Lily of the Valley 205 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Test of Nature 223 

CHAPTER XV. 

Perdita 240 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Mrs. Cooper’s Narrative 257 

CHAPTER XVII. 

After Many Days 271 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

An Appeal to the Heart 286 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Matthew Mora’s Statement ...... 308 

CHAPTER XX. 

Preacher Jim’s Last Sermon . .... 323 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY 



THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY 


CHAPTER I. 

A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 

“ T AM delighted to see you,” exclaimed Mr. Mitchel, 
entering his library, and advancing to meet his 
visitor, with hand outstretched in cordial greeting. 
“ Here I have been over to the other side, and, in Lon- 
don, Paris, Berlin, Rome, in fact everywhere, I find that 
our fame has preceded us. As soon as a man learned 
that my name is Leroy Mitchel, he would ply me with 
questions about the great New York detective, Mr. 
Barnes. And now, within twenty-four hours after leav- 
ing shipboard, here you are in propria persona , to answer 
for yourself. Well, tell me, what is the latest, the 
newest, the most mysterious case which may be troubling 
your waking hours, and disturbing your slumbers with 
nightmares of escaping criminals, and crimes undiscov- 
ered ? There is some great case on hand I am sure, or 
you would not look me up so quickly. But of course, 
you have solved it, eh ? You do not need any hints from 


2 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


me?” Here he nudged Mr. Barnes playfully, while a 
sly twinkle enlivened his eye. 

“ No ! I cannot say that I have solved it yet,” replied 
Mr. Barnes, releasing his hand from Mr. Mitchel’s hearty 
grasp, and resuming his seat. “ In fact, if I had done 
so, I suppose I should not be here.” 

“ Just so ! ” said Mr. Mitchel with a dry laugh. 

“ I saw your name in the published list of arrivals by 
the Paris” continued Mr. Barnes, “ and as I knew that 
the case with which I am occupied would interest you, 
I thought I would look in and talk it over with you.” 

“ And incidentally get my assistance, eh ? ” 

“ Nothing would please me better than to have your 
co-operation,” said Mr. Barnes eagerly. “ May I count 
upon it ? ” 

“ That must depend upon the nature of your case. 
What is it ? A common police-court affair, which has 
baffled the uniformed force, because the criminal, by 
chance or design, has managed to enshroud the facts 
with a thin veil of mystery ? Or have you really run 
across a classic crime ? ” 

“ It will prove to be the crime of the century,” said 
the detective with a touch of enthusiasm in his voice. 

“ The crime of the century ! ” repeated Mr. Mitchel 
musingly. “ You speak without fully weighing your 
words, Mr. Barnes. A common fault. Every word in 
the language has a definite meaning, and no two words, 
unless they be names for the same thing, express the 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


3 


same shade of thought. If this be true of a single word, 
how much more so must it be, when we unite several 
into a phrase ? This one, ‘ the crime of the century,’ 
means more than you have perhaps intended to convey. 
The crime of the century has not been committed by 
one man. It is too stupendous. It is the problem to 
which I, myself, have given much study, without having 
as yet reached any ultimate conclusions. No, Mr. 
Barnes ! Your case is not the crime of the century. 
Mine is. Some day I will tell you about it. When I 
have traced it to the end, you know. But now about 
your case ? ” 

“ Mr. Mitchel,” said Mr. Barnes, “ I do not know 
what crime it is, to which you have given so much 
attention, and which you choose to consider so great, 
but if it be more startling, more mysterious, or more 
difficult to unravel, than the one upon which I am en- 
gaged, then I shall look forward with keen expectancy 
to the time when you can give me the history of it.” 

“ I may perhaps talk it over with you some day ; I 
may even avail myself of your assistance. But tell me 
of your affair. It may have a connection with mine, 
after all. I should not be at all surprised.” 

“ It is possible. Crimes are not uncommonly inter- 
dependent.” 

“ Ah ! You have discovered that, have you ?” 

Mr. Mitchel said this so quickly, that Mr. Barnes was 
puzzled. He gazed at Mr, Mitchel intently for a mo- 


4 THE CRIME OF TIIE CENTURY. 

ment, and then replied, without having fully compre- 
hended his companion’s meaning. 

“ Why, yes,” said he. “ It is certainly a fact that one 
crime may lead to another. But what point do you 
make of that ? ” 

“ An important one,” said Mr. Mitchel, with a wave 
of his hand towards his guest. “ I find that I am in the 
presence of a detective with brains enough to look be- 
yond the immediate case in hand. For surely, if you 
have found by experience that crime breeds crime, — 
pardon the harsh phrase, which however, exactly ex- 
presses the truth, — it follows that you cannot hope to 
fully comprehend a specified case, until you have 
searched back into the past, to learn whether it be 
merely a result of previous wrongdoing, or an initial 
departure from rectitude. You agree with me ? ” 

“ Oh, I suppose so, theoretically at least ; though 
you are carrying me deeper than a practical detective 
would go.” 

“ Oh, very well, we will go no deeper.” Mr. Mitchel 
dismissed the line of thought with that incisive manner 
so peculiar to himself. “ I did not know how far you 
would care to go ; we will return to the shallow waters 
of regular detective work, by all means. Pardon the 
digression, and proceed with your narrative.” 

Mr. Barnes felt slightly annoyed. He realized that 
Mr. Mitchel was depreciating his talents, placing him 
on the plane of the common thief-taker, a plane which 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


5 


he knew that Mr. Mitchel considered a very low one 
intellectually. Nevertheless he did not, even now, know 
wherein he had offended. Was it not true, that the 
practical detective should confine himself to the imme- 
diate facts connected with the crime in hand, if he 
hoped to bring the wrongdoer to justice, rather than to 
make speculative pilgrimages into the remote past ? He 
still believed so, yet it annoyed him to find that he was 
evidently at variance with Mr. Mitchel on this point, for 
though he thought that gentleman egotistical in the 
highest degree, nevertheless he fully appreciated his 
intellectual capabilities. He would now have preferred 
to discuss the question, but it was not easy fb reopen 
the subject, Mr. Mitchel having dismissed the topic. 
This made him irritable, as he often was when in Mr. Mit- 
chel’s society, despite the uniform courtesy with which he 
was always treated. Mr. Barnes therefore found himself 
obliged to confine himself to the relation of his case. 

“ Well then,” began the detective, after a pause, “about 
a week ago, a most startling murder aroused the interest 
of the community. The victim was no less a man than 
Matthew Mora, a many times millionaire, prominent in 
Wall Street banking circles, as well as in Fifth Avenue 
drawing-rooms, and conspicuous for his many deeds of 
philanthropy.” 

“ How was the killing effected ? ” 

“ In a most brutally horrible manner. The old man 
was clubbed to death. This is not speculation, but fact. 


6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


The murderer did not deign to hide the weapon, but 
left it upon the floor near the body. This was shrewd, 
because, had he taken it away from the house, its dis- 
covery might have been a clue which would have led 
us to a solution. But as it appears that the bludgeon 
was one of a collection of Indian implements of war, 
owned by Mr. Mora, its presence in the bedroom tells 
us nothing.” 

“ Oh, yes, it tells you something,” interjected Mr. 
Mitchel. “ Every known fact connected with a crime, 
tells its quota of the truth, and is therefore more impor- 
tant than the theoretical or circumstantial evidence, 
which may be gathered.” 

“ Of course I know that,” said the detective testily. 
“ What I mean is, that the weapon left in the room, 
having belonged to the dead man, gives us no direct 
clue to the identity of the murderer. It does, however, 
tell us something, and it may even, however indirectly, 
point to the right man. For example, it is positive that 
the murderer did not bring this club with him. From 
this postulate there are two possible deductions. First, 
the man may not have intended murder when he entered 
the house. Second, he may not have entered the house 
at all.” 

“ Ah ! Now you are doing better, Mr. Barnes,” said 
Mr. Mitchel with a pleasant smile. “ You mean that the 
criminal may have been an inmate of the house, and 
therefore did not need to look for a weapon, being 
familiar with those at hand, eh ? ” 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


7 


“ Exactly ! And this is the more plausible of the two 
theories, because the Indian weapons were kept locked 
in a case in the library, on the floor below Mr. Mora’s 
bedchamber.” 

“ This case was not broken open, I suppose ? ” 

“ No. But as the key was commonly in the lock, this 
counts for nothing. The condition of the' cabinet, how- 
ever, together with the weapon used, furnishes us with 
another safe deduction. As you know, it is often diffi- 
cult to decide whether a crime be premeditated or not. 
In this instance it was certainly planned.” 

“ This is interesting. How do you prove it ?„” 

“ The cabinet, as I have said, is usually locked, though 
the key is left sticking. On the morning after the mur- 
der, the door was found open. Thus it is evident that 
the master of the house had not himself taken the club 
to his room ; for, being a man of exceedingly orderly 
habits, he would have locked the door. No, the mur- 
derer, knowing that a weapon of this kind was to be had, 
took it from the cabinet, but in his excited or abstracted 
frame of mind, he might naturally have left the door 
open.” 

“You said awhile ago, Mr. Barnes, that the more 
plausible theory is, that the criminal was an inmate of 
the house. This may be, but do not overlook the possi- 
bility that, coming from outside, and planning against 
detection, the murderer may have chosen this weapon 
for th6 very reason that it would divert the attention of 
a detective, away from himself, and towards some other 


8 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


man. He would need of course to have knowledge of 
the existence of the Indian weapons, and of the fact that 
they were within easy reach.” 

“ He would also have needed the opportunity of en- 
tering the house, and of escaping unobserved. Now, in 
the first place, the only way of getting into the house is 
through the front door, a large storage warehouse occu- 
pying all of the street at the back ; and secondly, Mr. 
Mora had a special night-watchman patrolling the front 
of his premises.” 

“ And this night-watchman saw no one go in, or come 
out of the house ? ” 

“ On the contrary he saw a man do both. This man 
entered through the front door, using a latch-key, some 
time between one and two o’clock. He came out again 
about an hour later. But the watchman recognized him 
both times. It was Matthew Mora, Jr.” 

“ The son ? ” 

“ The only son ! ” 

“ And heir, I suppose ? ” 

“ And heir. The only child. Mother dead.” 

“ That is suspicious ! ” 

“ Very ! ” 

“ Anything else against the young man ? ” 

“ He returned to the house at five o’clock in the morn- 
ing, differently dressed, and ” 

“ Differently dressed, you say? ” 

“Yes. Of this the watchman is positive.” 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


9 


“ That ought to be significant ? ” 

“ I should say so. He went in, but within a few min- 
utes he emerged again in great excitement. Passing the 
watchman he exclaimed : ‘ My father has been mur- 
dered ! Let no one enter the house until I return ! * ” 

“ And then ? ” 

“ Then he went directly to the police station, and 
reported the case.” 

“ A clever young man ! ” 

“ You will continue to hold that view, the more you 
hear. Two policemen were detailed to return to the 
house with him, and the central office was notified, so 
that within an hour experienced detectives were on the 
spot. One of these, my friend Mr. Burrows, was kind 
enough to stop for me, and ask me to accompany him. 
So that I was present at the first official investigation.” 

“ You were fortunate.” 

“ Yes ! I always dislike to take up a case after others 
have moved things about, and tramped over the scene 
of the tragedy. We found the room in great disorder. 
Furniture overturned ; the rugs about the room in tan- 
gled heaps, where the struggling men must have kicked 
them about ; bric-a-brac strewn on the floor and broken ; 
in fact, every evidence to prove that the old man had 
yielded up his life only after a desperate encounter with 
his assailant.” 

“ Was he a powerful man ? You said he was old ? ” 

“ Old is a figure of speech. He was something over 


IO THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

fifty, but he had been an athlete in his youth, and could 
give a good account of himself in a boxing-bout at any 
time. If his son was the murderer, the men were evenly 
matched. He is not so heavy as his father was, but he 
is sinewy, and has muscles of steel. I found Mr. Mora’s 
watch under the bed, where it must have been knocked 
from the dressing-table. The fall had caused it to stop, 
and the hands indicated seven minutes of two, agreeing 
with the time during which the watchman testifies that 
young Mora was at home.” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ but do not go too fast. 
The watch may have run down. It is uncommon for a 
good watch to stop, merely because it falls to the floor.” 

“ Both of your points are good, in theory,” replied the 
detective. “ But neither applies in this instance. If a 
watch runs down, it cannot be started again without 
winding. By merely shaking this one I set it going, and 
to make assurance doubly sure, 1 let it run for an hour, 
when it was still keeping time. Next, though it be true 
that most watches would not be so easily stopped, this 
one, for some reason, is very sensitive to a blow. I tried 
the experiment of pushing it from the table to the floor, 
and at every attempt I found that it would cease its 
movement.” 

“You certainly have been thorough on this point,” 
admitted Mr. Mitchel, “ and I presume we may con- 
sider it established that the first attack upon Mr. Mora 
occurred at or near two o’clock.” 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


II 


“ During the hour when the watchman claims that 
young Mora was at home,” added Mr. Barnes. 

“The watchman’s testimony must be remembered, 
certainly,” said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Of course,” continued the detective, “ the first theory 
in these cases is naturally that of the midnight marauder, 
in search of plunder. But a careful examination showed 
that nothing had been abstracted, though various articles 
of furniture, and especially Mr. Mora’s writing-desk, had 
been ransacked. I ought to mention that an open pack- 
age containing several thousand dollars in notes, was 
conspicuously in view in a small drawer, and was un- 
touched.” 

“ Untouched ? Is not that merely a presumption ? 
Why may not this shrewd criminal have taken half, or 
two thirds, of the cash found, leaving the rest, as he did 
the club, to baffle detectives ? ” 

“ I have said that Mr. Mora was most methodical. 
We found a note-book in which was entered, from time 
to time, a detailed account of his worldly possessions. 
This included a statement of the cash balances in vari- 
ous banks, and the cash on hand. Under a date two 
days previous to the murder, is an entry, giving the bal- 
ance of cash on hand, which is only about a hundred 
dollars more than the amount of the notes found in his 
desk.” 

‘VWellthen, if not money, what did the murderer seek, 
in the desk which you say was ransacked ? ” 


12 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Why not the will ? ” 

“ Ah ! Of course, the will. Do you know that there 
was a will ? ” 

“ His lawyers declare that they made one for him 
recently ; within a month, in fact. He bequeathed one 
half of his fortune to his son, and the other half was 
distributed among various charitable institutions.” 

“ What was the total ? ” 

“ It is estimated that the fortune amounts to eighteen 
millions.” 

“ One half of which is nine millions,” mused Mr. 
Mitchel. “ Enough, quite enough to be considered an 
incentive for murder. A legal incentive, I mean.” 

“Yes. The will cannot be found, and if not found, 
Charity loses, and young Mora gains, nine millions. 
Now we come to another point. We, that is I, found 
blood-stains upon the young man’s clothing.” 

“ Did I not understand you to say that he came back 
to the house in different clothing ? ” 

“ That could only apply to his outer garments, for of 
course the watchman could not observe whether he had 
changed his underwear. The blood-stains were on the 
wristband of his shirt, and on the sleeve of the right arm.” 

“ Did you call his attention to this ? ” 

“ I did. For an instant he seemed disconcerted, but 
quickly recovered himself. Then he claimed the stains 
got on his shirt when he examined his father’s body, and 
was feeling his breast to see whether life was extinct.” 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


13 


“ He is a clever young man, Mr. Barnes.” 

“You said so before, and I told you that you would 
not alter your opinion. But I next asked him to explain 
how it happened that blood was upon the wristband, 
while none showed upon his cuffs ? ” 

“ Of course. A good point. He might have changed 
his cuffs, when he changed his other clothing. That 
was your idea was it not ? How did he answer ? ” 

“ He said he had been away from home all night — ” 

“ Away from home all night ? ” 

“ So he claimed. And that returning about five in 
the morning, he had first thought of retiring, and had 
thrown off his coat and removed his cuffs, when, a light 
burning in his father’s room attracted his attention 
thither, as it was the old man’s habit to sleep in dark- 
ness. Thus he had no cuffs on, when he examined the 
body, but put them on again before going out to the 
police station.” 

“ He is shrewd, Mr. Barnes, very shrewd. This is a 
point of which I have often thought. The prosecution 
says, ‘ Prisoner, there is blood upon your garments ! ’ 
Prisoner foolishly replies, ‘ That is not blood, but rust, 
or if blood, it is chicken blood ! ’ Then the expert 
stalks in and testifies, * It is blood ! human blood ! * 
But this young man disarms the prosecutiou at the out- 
set. He says , 1 Yes, it is blood ! The blood of my father ! ’ 
Then he explains plausibly how it happens to be upon 
him.” 


14 the crime of the century. 

“ Ah ! yes, very good, Mr. Mitchel. But if he were 
really innocent, why should he wash, or attempt to wash 
the stain off, and why should he stop to replace his 
cuffs, if he were really in a hurry to report to the 
police ? ” 

“ So ! He had attempted to wash away the blood. 
That was an error, I fear. But they all make mistakes. 
How did he answer these questions, that is if you asked 
them.” 

“ Yes, I asked them, and he replied.” Mr. Barnes 
spoke rather reluctantly. “ He said that he had noticed 
the blood upon his wristband, and washed it off because 
he thought some fool of a detective might conceive the 
idea that he had killed his father. That he had put on 
his cuffs, because he was in too great a hurry to stop to 
change the shirt, and he had hoped that the cuff would 
hide the fact that the wristband had been washed.” 

“ By heavens, Mr. Barnes, a brilliant answer. A very 
brilliant answer.” Mr. Mitchel laughed heartily. 

“ It may be brilliant,” retorted Mr. Barnes, “but it is 
false. And I will prove it so, if it be so.” 

“ If it be so ! Ah ! Wisely added, Mr. Barnes. If it 
be so ! ” 

“You, of course, agree that the crucial point in this 
affair is the conflicting statements of the watchman, and 
young Mora. The watchman asserts positively, that he 
saw the son enter the house and leave it again. He has 
been in the employ of the deceased for several years, 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


15 


and was acquainted therefore with his son. Yet the 
young man stoutly denies that he was at home before 
five o’clock in the morning. Evidently one of these 
men is lying.” 

“ Pardon me, Mr. Barnes ; but you say that one of 
the men lies, because you think that young Mora is tell- 
ing a falsehood. You do not mean that by any possi- 
bility the watchman is lying. Yet it may be that Mora 
tells the truth, and also that the watchman believes that 
his own statement is accurate.” 

“ You mean that the watchman was perhaps mistaken, 
and that it was some other person who entered the 
house ? ” 

“ Precisely so. It is possible.” 

“ Possible, yes. But far from probable. It seems 
that Mora has been wearing a peculiar brown plaid suit 
of late. The material he procured in Scotland, and it is 
not likely that another bit of cloth like it could be 
found in this city. The watchman was familiar with 
this suit of clothing, and swears that the man who en- 
tered the house that night wore that suit of Scotch plaid. 
Yet, in the face of this positive assertion, young Mora 
denies that he wore that suit at all that night, and sug- 
gests that the murderer, after committing the crime, may 
have dressed himself in this suit, wearing it over his own 
clothing. He claims that the watchman may have been 
mistaken about what was worn by the man going in, 
though he seems to have been quite accurate about what 


1 6 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

was worn by him who came out, for, oddly enough, the 
plaid suit is missing.” 

“ And young Mora says that the murderer may have 
taken it. Well, it is a very believable proposition.” 

“ Believable,” returned Mr. Barnes, hotly. “ Yes, that 
is the worst of it. They have believed it. The coro- 
ner’s jury, I mean.” 

“ Ah, matters have proceeded as far as that, have 
they?” 

“Yes! The full account of yesterday’s proceedings 
is in the morning paper. You may read it.” 

“ No,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ I would rather have you 
read it to me.” 

Mr. Barnes turned, so that the light from the window 
fell across his paper, and read the following : 

“THE MORA MYSTERY. 

“the inquest brings no solution. 

“ THE SON ACQUITTED. 

“ The inquest in the Mora case ended yesterday, the 
jury bringing in the usual commonplace verdict, ‘ Died 
from wounds inflicted by parties unknown.’ Thus, 
despite the many hints that the District Attorney and 
the detectives had discovered damaging evidence 
against young Matthew Mora, nothing has been proven. ' 
The evidence offered was entirely speculative and theo- 
retical, and the jury rightly declined to cast a stain upon 
the young man’s character, upon such flimsy testimony. 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


7 


The main points upon which the police relied, were the 
discovery of blood upon the young man’s sleeve, and the 
positive assertion of the watchman that he had been 
seen dressed in a plaid suit, known to be his, entering 
and leaving the house at or near one o’clock. The 
first point Mr. Mora easily disposed of, by openly ad- 
mitting that the blood was that of his father, and that he 
had been smeared with it while examining the corpse, to 
ascertain whether the heart might not be beating. He 
denied the alleged visit to the house, as claimed by the 
watchman, and candidly confessed that he did not know 
what had become of the missing suit of clothing. He 
suggested, however, that the murderer may have worn it 
over his own blood-stained garments, when leaving the 
house, a theory that was evidently acceptable to the jury. 
This might not have been, had not Mr. Mora satisfacto- 
rily accounted for his time during the night. It seems 
that he has been taking an interest lately in the East 
Side slums, and has been studying the labor problem. 
On the night of the murder he attended a ball at Apollo 
Hall, hoping by associating with the inhabitants of the 
section, to gain a closer insight into their needs, and 
thus, perhaps, later on to apply the money which he 
knew would be his, and which has now come to him so 
unexpectedly, towards alleviating the distress of the 
poor slum dwellers. In support of this story he pro- 
duced two witnesses, who testified that he was at Apollo 
Hall throughout the ball, dancing with some of the fair 


8 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Jewish maidens, and making merry with the men. They 
declare that he did not leave for home until about four 
o’clock, which tallies nicely with the time of his actual 
arrival there.” 

“ Too nicely,” growled the detective. “ I need not 
read further. The reporter seems to be making an 
effort to whitewash young Mora, for the rest of the 
article is devoted to sounding his praises. You may 
look it over later if you like.” 

" Thank you. I will, ” said Mr. Mitchel, taking the 
paper. “ Now then, what can I do for you in this case ? 
What course will you pursue ? ” 

“ Well, the police put forward the theory that Mora 
is the murderer. The Coroner’s Jury has virtually 
knocked their theory into a cocked hat. I have noted 
that in cases of this sort the police make little further 
effort, and by degrees the details are forgotten by the 
public, who seize upon the next crime served up to 
satisfy their appetite for the sensational. Thus the 
murderer escapes. But in this instance he shall not 
escape. If it be young Mora, I will bring the crime 
home to him, in return for his insolent language to me. 
If it be some other person, why I shall be equally well 
serving the ends of justice by discovering the truth.” 

“Yes, but beware, Mr. Barnes! For the first time 
since I have had the honor of your acquaintance you 
allow personal feeling to enter into your investigation of 
a case. Young Mora has been insolent to you, but that 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


19 


would not justify you in weaving a web of circumstantial 
evidence around him, which will blast his reputation 
forever, even if it do not bring him to the gallows.” 

“ I hope I am above that sort of thing,” said Mr. 
Barnes, flushing deeply. “ I am sure ” 

“So am I. Sure that you are above it. You will do 
your best to discover the truth. Only, a personal spite 
is a dangerous element in such investigations. I merely 
call your attention to the existence of the viper, that you 
may crush it with your heel. But you ask me to aid you 
in this affair. It may surprise you to hear me say that I 
cannot go into the case as you desire.” 

“ I am more than surprised, I am sorely disappointed,” 
said the detective. 

“ Oh, it is not so bad as that,” added Mr. Mitchel, 
quickly. “I may be of some use to you. You see the 
truth is, Mr. Barnes, I am not exactly a detective by 
trade. I mean no offense, but I cannot look at these 
cases from your standpoint. With you, a crime com- 
mitted, indicates that there is a criminal at large. 
That criminal must be discovered, imprisoned, per- 
haps hanged. That is your work. It is a work with 
which I can have no sort of sympathy.” 

“ But I have thought that these investigations inter- 
ested you.” 

Mr. Barnes was much astonished at Mr. Mitchel’s 
words. 

“ Ah ! Indeed, the investigation of a mystery is inter- 


20 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


esting to me. Especially where the use of brains, and 
more particularly of brains against brains, enters into 
the work. But the study of a murder case, with the 
single object of hanging the murderer, is not attractive 
to me.” 

“ Surely, you do not mean that murderers should go 
unpunished ? ” 

“ No, perhaps that would not be a wise course. But 
to me it seems that the arrest, conviction, and hanging 
of a specified murderer, is a matter of absolutely no im- 
portance ; and of no effect in abating the tendency to- 
wards crime, which is such a conspicuous characteristic 
of mankind. As I hinted awhile ago, when you said 
that I went too deep for you, I can almost believe that 
it is of more utility to study the causes which have made 
a given crime possible, than to capture and kill the 
criminal. We think that we have thus gotten rid of him. 
We have put him away ; out of the world. We have 
ended his career. Ah ! But have we ? Can we be sure 
that his crime will not breed another crime, as a direct 
sequence to the one for which he is punished ? And do 
we know whether his punishment will advance or check 
the tendency towards crime which he has left as a herb 
tage to his offspring ? These are questions of more 
interest to me, Mr. Barnes, than the killing of the man 
who killed Mr. Mora.” 

“ But surely, I must repeat,” said Mr. Barnes, “ you 
would not advise that crimes should go unpunished ? ” 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


21 


“ Perhaps I might, when I am wiser you know.” Mr. 
Mitchel laughed, and once again abruptly changed the 
subject. “ However, Mr. Barnes, since you frown so 
upon me, I will lend you my assistance.” 

“ You will ? ” exclaimed Mr. Barnes, eagerly. 

“ I will, 1 and there ’s my hand on ’t,’ as the song says. 
No ! No ! No thanks are necessary. Who knows, as 
I said before, perhaps your affair may be connected with 
mine after all, in which case I would but be advancing 
my own interests in aiding you.” 

“ Do you mean that you have found some connection 
between the killing of Mr. Mora and ” 

“ Perhaps ! I only say, perhaps ! Do not press me to 
commit myself further. And now, give me twenty-four 
hours in which to study the case, will you ?” 

Mr. Barnes accepted the hint to go, and after cor- 
dially thanking Mr. Mitchel for his promised assistance, 
he went away lighter hearted. With Mr. Mitchel co- 
operating, he thought that only a few days would be 
needed to bring him to the truth. 

After his departure Mr. Mitchel took up the news- 
paper, intending to read over the report of the inquest, 
when his eye rested upon a headline in the next 
column, which caused him to read the following : 

“ BRUTAL TREATMENT OF A CHILD. 

“The Metropolitan Foundling Society have just had 
their attention drawn to a case which is peculiarly mon- 


22 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


strous in its cruelty. It appears that one of their agents, 
on his regular tour through the East Side, was notified 
by the policeman on duty that a baby had been aban- 
doned near by. Upon investigation the agent found 
that a row of tenements backed upon a small burial- 
ground, which of course had not been used for inter- 
ments for many years, and is therefore rarely opened. 
Into this graveyard some fiend had thrown a girl baby, 
about a year old, and there left it, in a fitting place to 
starve to death. The infant, when discovered, was en- 
tirely naked, so that there was nothing about it which 
could serve as a means of identification. Inquiry among 
the inhabitants of the tenements, elicited the fact that 
for four days the child had been seen crawling about in 
the grass, playing among the headstones, yet no one had 
found time to investigate the affair, though someone had 
thrown bits of bread and crackers to the poor little baby, 
which it ravenously seized upon and devoured. To 
those living in uptown streets, dwelling in comfortable 
if not luxurious homes, it may seem incredible that this 
infant could be thus left, for so many days, with no one 
to go to its rescue. But these poor folks are themselves 
nigh unto starvation, working long dreary hours, under 
the killing influences of the dread sweatshop, with mas- 
ters correcting them for a moment’s idleness. Such as 
these have their better feelings dulled ; such as these 
have no time to wonder whose baby this waif might be, 
or whether, after all, it may not have belonged to some- 


A MYSTERIOUS CASE. 


23 


one nearby, who would claim it before nightfall. In- 
deed, the wonder is that such as these even had the 
thought to throw food to the little one creeping about in 
the grass. But the horror is, that any human being 
could abandon a child to such a fate as only chance 
saved this tot from suffering. The fiend should be 
found and punished.” 

“ Ah, yes ! ” said Mr. Mitchel, laying aside his paper. 
“ Found and punished ! That is the final, the only 
way that Society has of disposing of such cases. Mr. 
Barnes would approve. And what of the next case ? 
Why, the same treatment of course. Arrest and punish. 
But the reporter here has lifted a corner of the veil and 
given us a glimpse of the sweatshop. There, they are 
manufacturing coats. Are they making anything else ? ” 
He took up the paper and read the article through once 
more, and as he put it down he exclaimed : 

“ Horrible ! Monstrous ! And yet Mr. Barnes thinks 
that the killing of Mr. Mora is the crime of the century. 
Ah, well, we shall widen the scope of your views some 
day, Mr. Barnes.” 


CHAPTER II. 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ” — FINGERS. 

A HALF-HOUR later Mr. Mitchel entered the office 
of the Metropolitan Foundling Society, and from 
one of the clerks obtained further information 
relative to the foundling. The address of a woman 
who had first reported the case, as well as her name, 
Gertrude Griffin, was given to him and, upon his request, 
he was permitted to see the little waif, who was snugly 
tucked away in a cot on the floor above. 

As Mr. Mitchel was entering the upper room, he met 
an acquaintance in the hallway. This was Colonel Pay- 
ton, one of the directors of the Society. < 

The Colonel was a large man, with a fine head, and 
commanding mien. His hair was whitening, and his 
long side-whiskers, already white, made him look older 
than he really was. During the late civil war he had 
served his country faithfully, and had earned his epaulets 
by bravery on the field, having risen from the ranks 
to the position which he held when his command had 
been mustered out. Returning to New York after the 
war, he settled down to the peaceful occupation of 
making money ; and by fortunate speculations in Wall 

24 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ” — FINGERS. 25 


Street and investments in real estate, he had placed 
himself far above the need of further effort. 

Therefore he had retired from active business, and for 
several years had devoted his time to church and charity. 
In this manner he had earned the reputation of being a 
useful member of society ; a philanthropist who gave 
freely, yet who deprecated indiscriminate alms giving, 
believing that the best good was to be attained by help- 
ing others to help themselves. He had therefore allied 
himself with several associations having the betterment 
of the poor as their aim. 

Personally he was an exceedingly genial and pleasant 
companion, until you differed with him on one of his 
principles of life, when he would show his New England 
ancestry, being very “ set.” He was a bachelor, and 
some said that he was a woman hater, which was de- 
nied by others, who declared that he eschewed the 

society of the opposite sex, because he had un- 

successfully wooed one, whom he had wished to 
make his bride. However this may have been, 
whenever the Colonel did choose to honor a social 
gathering with his presence he was sure of a warm 
reception. His evenings were usually spent at his 

club, where he was a conspicuous figure at the whist 
table, and whether or not he was a favorite with 
the ladies, certain it was, that he was honored, and even 
courted by his own sex, as a bon vivant and a raconteur 
of rare ability. 


2 6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Delighted to meet you, Mr. Mitchel,” exclaimed the 
Colonel, recognizing that gentleman. “ I thought you 
were on the other side ? ” 

“ I have just returned by the Paris” said Mr. Mitchel. 
“ I see you are on your rounds. Inspecting one of your 
favorite charities ? ” 

“Well, hardly that,” said the Colonel, with a laugh. 
“ I don’t allow my charities, as you call them, to take up 
all of my time. But there is a case in hand at present 
to which I shall give my personal attention. Perhaps 
you have read of the horror in the morning papers ? ” 

“ Do you mean that little naked baby found in the 
graveyard ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel was pleased to find that his companion 
was interested in this case, as he counted upon his gar- 
rulousness to obtain more of the facts than had escaped 
from the official mouth, sealed with red tape, which he 
had met below stairs. 

“Yes,” replied the Colonel. “That is a monstrous 
affair. Think of a mother throwing a baby less than a 
year old into a graveyard and leaving it there to starve. 
I intend to find that woman and ” 

“How do you know it was the mother?” asked Mr. 
Mitchel, quietly. “ It may have been the father who 
thus wished to rid himself of a burdensome offspring.” 

“ Of course ! Of course ! ” said the Colonel, irritated 
by the interruption, as well as by the suggestion that he 
might be in error. “But what difference does that 


11 UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ** — FINGERS. 2J 


make ? Mother or father, it is all the same to me. I 
will hunt down the culprit, and see that full punish- 
ment is meted out.” 

“ Punishment ! Always punishment ! ” thought Mr. 
Mitchel. “ How eagerly Society punishes ! How little 
it does to prevent ! ” Then he added aloud : 

“What would be your idea of a fitting punishment, 
Colonel ? ” 

“ I am sorry to say that my ideas and the law do not 
agree on that point. The law allots seven years in the 
penitentiary for abandonment of a child. But in this 
case there was an evident intent to kill. Otherwise the 
infant would have been placed on a doorstep, or other 
conspicuous spot where it could be found. If I had my 
way I would give the guilty party twenty years at least.” 

“ What good would that do,” asked Mr. Mitchel. He 
said it so quickly, and the words were such a surprise to 
the Colonel, that the latter was nonplussed for a 
moment, and then he blurted out excitably : 

“ What good would it do ? It would teach him a 
lesson, and others as well, would n’t it ? It would show 
people of this class that if they have children they must 
care for them, or go to prison, would n’t it ? ” 

“ I think it would be better,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ to 
teach people that when they have children they must 
care for them, without going to prison.” 

“ A fine theory,” sneered the Colonel. “ And how 
would you accomplish that, pray ? ” 


28 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Oh, I do not say that it is a simple problem. But, 
Colonel, at present it seems to me that the law has a 
wrong aim in view. If a man abandons a child — I say a 
maxi, for it is the father who should support mother and 
child, and it is only through penury that the ordinary 
vaother yields up her progeny. If the father, then, fails 
in his duty, the law locks him up, at present. How does 
this work ? First, the man is placed where it becomes 
impossible for him to do that, for failing in which, he is 
held culpable. Secondly, the mother is left more help- 
less than before, for the hope of reclaiming the man to 
her side is taken from her. And lastly, the child is 
thrown into a public institution, which, however well 
maintained, is a poor substitute for a home with paren- 
tal influence.” 

“ And how would you have it work ? ” asked the 
Colonel, still sneering, but interested in spite of himself. 

“ I have observed,” continued Mr. Mitchel, “ that 
foundlings belong to two classes only. First, they are 
the children of the very poor to whom the added burden 
of another mouth to feed, is too great. The youngest 
born is abandoned in order that those who have pre- 
ceded it, and who have earned a place in the parents’ 
hearts, may not suffer. In these cases I see a good field 
for charity. If we would care for these extra burdens 
of the poor, until such time when the parents might 
reclaim them, they would not be abandoned. If we also 
extended a helping hand to the parents, finding more 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ” — FINGERS. 29 

remunerative work for them, by putting hope into their 
hearts, they would have increased energy, and would soon 
learn to support, what now they cast adrift. The little 
ones would spend but their earlier years in charitable 
asylums, and would be taken home, when old enough to 
appreciate what home means.” 

“ And the other class ? ” asked the Colonel, this time 
without any sarcasm in his tones. 

“ Ah ! That is the class which would be the more 
difficult to control and therefore would need the most 
stringent measures. These are the children of shame. 
The punishment should be compulsory marriage, and 
support of wife and child. In these cases the mothers 
may be, and often are as blameable as the fathers, though 
the men are the tempters. But surely the children are 
innocent, and should receive the full protection of the 
State. First, their birth should be legitimatized by the 
marriage of their parents ; and, second, the father 
should contribute to the support of his child.” 

“ Ah, very pretty in theory,” cried the Colonel. He 
was pleased to find a weak spot in Mr. Mitchel’s argu- 
ment. “ But suppose that the man has no means of sup- 
porting his child, or, worse yet, suppose that he be 
already a married man ? ” 

“ In the latter event, of course, a marriage between 
him and his victim would be impossible, but in any case, 
he could be made to support his child, which would be 
more just to the infant than the imprisonment of the man.” 


30 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ But how in the name of conscience can you make a 
man support a child, if there is no alternative punish- 
ment ? ” 

“ Oh ! I did not say that there should be no punish- 
ment. I only argued against imprisonment. This is a 
fitting use for the whipping-post. Corporal punishment 
is sometimes more effectual than any other. For 
example, if all married men guilty of this crime, should 
be publicly flogged once a month for a year after con- 
viction, I think much would be accomplished towards a 
regeneracy of the moral status of the community. But 
let me answer you as to the compulsory support of the 
child. If the man has means, it would be easy enough 
for the court to allot a specified monthly payment to the 
mother and child. To insure such payment, a part of 
the culprit’s property could be placed under the guardian- 
ship of the public administrator ; not actually confis- 
cated, but so arranged that no disposition could be made 
of it, against the interests of the child.” 

“ But suppose the man has no visible means of sup- 
port ? ” 

“ A man who can work, and won’t work, must be made 
to work. If he can be made to work for the State, in 
prison, surely he can be compelled to work for his child, 
out of prison. I think if a man were flogged every week 
until he would make an honest effort to obtain employ- 
ment, he would soon look eagerly for work. Of course 
he might do this and not succeed ; in which case, when 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH” — FINGERS. 3 1 


he had proven his willingness to do his duty, he would 
have reached the same plane as the father in the first 
class, and would be a worthy object of assistance.” 

“ I guess we ’ll have to send you to the Legislature,” 
said the Colonel, who found that he was getting the 
worst of the argument, and so preferred to let the topic 
drop. “ Would you like to see the latest applicant for 
assistance under your scheme ? ” 

“ I would, indeed,” said Mr. Mitchel, and together 
they entered. 

The Colonel led the way across the room, the Matron 
rising from her chair and following them. 

“ I want to show this gentleman our newest boarder,” 
said the Colonel. 

“ She ’s a little angel,” said the Matron, turning down 
the coverlet. 

“ You mean she might have been,” said the Colonel, 
grimly. “ That is what her parents hoped, Mrs. Martin.” 

“ The inhuman brutes ! ” exclaimed the Matron. “ I 
wish I could see them both behind the bars. They 
ought to get twenty years at least.” 

Mr. Mitchel smiled. The present system apparently 
is so universally acceptable that it would be a Herculean 
task to remodel the laws to meet a more scientific and 
philanthropic scope. Philanthropy towards criminals ! 
How strange the words would sound in the public ear ? 
The advocate of such a system would be considered a 
lunatic, or at least a crank. 


32 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

Mr. Mitchel stooped over the crib and gazed into the 
great blue eyes which seemed unduly large, because of 
the pinched and starved little face. Yet the hands and 
feet were still fat and chubby, the four days of exposure 
not having been enough to reduce them in any apparent 
degree. 

“ She would be a pretty child if her face was not so 
thin,” ventured Mr. Mitchel, feeling that he was at best 
but a poor judge of such young specimens of humanity. 

“ She would be pretty ? ” cried the Matron, indig- 
nantly. “ She is pretty. The prettiest little girlie that 
has been in this room in many a day.” 

Mrs. Martin had once had a baby of her own, a tiny, 
sickly little thing, which had soon withered and died. 
But the yearnings of motherhood aroused by that little 
cherub had never quite died out, and when her husband 
was killed shortly afterward, leaving her alone in the 
world, and hopeless in her dearest desire, she had gladly 
accepted this position, where she could do unto others 
as she would have done for her own. Each baby placed 
in her care for a few days, reminded her of her own lost 
darling, and her heart went out to it so completely that 
the final separation always left her gloomy and despond- 
ent, a condition which would continue until the next 
outcast was brought in. 

This baby in some manner had attracted her more 
than ordinarily, perhaps because of its unusually sad his- 
tory, and she resented even praise which was not given 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ” — FINGERS. 33 


in full measure. So she lifted the little one up in her 
arms, and held her out for inspection. 

“ Did you ever see such pretty feet ? Look at her 
toes, just as perfect as the Lord ever made. And see 
the dimples ? Ain’t they just lovely ? ” She kissed 
each dimple rapturously, and then continued: “Just 
look at her hands. They are pretty enough to belong to 
the quality. Now I hold that the hands tell the breed- 
ing better than anything, and one or the other of the 
parents of this young lady is high bred, or I ’m no 
judge.” 

She looked about as though defying contradiction, 
but neither man cared to dispute the point with her, so 
Mrs. Martin’s testimony stood, as the testimony of all 
experts should. 

“ She certainly has beautiful hands,” said Mr. Mitchel, 
by way of recovering the good graces of the Matron. 
“ Just look at them, Colonel.” 

“ Oh, I have already admired all the young lady’s 
points,” said the Colonel. “ Have n’t I, Mrs. Martin ? ” 

He reached forward and playfully tickled the young- 
ster in the ribs, whereupon she grasped his thumb in her 
hand, and gripped it tightly. 

“ Indeed you have, Colonel,” said the Matron. “ I 
must say you seem to have taken quite a fancy to the 
baby, and see there now, how she takes to you. I 
wonder, Colonel, you don’t adopt the dear litttle 

cherub.” 

3 


34 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Adopt ! I adopt a baby ? ” The Colonel laughed 
heartily. “ Imagine an old soldier like me, and a 
bachelor besides, adopting a baby. And a girl baby in 
the bargain.” Again he laughed, while the baby, as 
though advocating her cause, stretched out her other 
arm, and danced as though desiring to be taken, where- 
upon the Matron delightedly handed over her charge, 
which snuggled up against the old soldier, still clinging 
to his great thumb. 

“ There now,” said Mrs. Martin, “ ain’t that a pretty 
picture ? And as to your being a bachelor, the more 
shame to you. I hold that bachelors should do their 
share towards supporting the children in the world, as 
well as others. There ’s many a poor father with more 
brats than he can feed, while there ’s others with plenty 
of money that just shirks. They just leaves the babies 
for other people to raise, no offense to you, of course, 
Colonel ! ” 

Mrs. Martin added her last words hastily, as the 
Colonel had suddenly, and seemingly without reason, 
stopped laughing, and was handing back the child. 
Perhaps she had been too familiar with one of her 
superiors, but she was so anxious to see this little tot 
secure a good berth in the world that she had forgotten 
herself for the time. 

“You are talking stuff and nonsense, Mrs. Martin,” 
said the Colonel, stiffly, as he yielded up the child. 
“ You are old enough to have better sense. I am aston- 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ”— FINGERS. 35 

ished. Come, Mitchel, if you have seen enough we ’ll 
go. Or perhaps you are looking for a child for adop- 
tion ? ” 

“ No ! Not that,” said Mr. Mitchel, earnestly, and 
looking squarely at the Colonel. “ But I would like you 
to arrange it so that no disposition will be made of this 
child without my knowledge.” 

“ Certainly, if you wish it. But why ? ” 

“ Because I mean to put my theory into practice. I 
mean to discover the father of that child, and compel 
him to support it.” 

“ The devil you do ! ” 

The Colonel was astounded. Mr. Mitchel was evi- 
dently crazier than he had thought. Theories were well 
enough, but if one tried to put them into practice his 
mind must be weakening. 

“ Such is my intention,” persisted Mr. Mitchel. 

“ I wish you joy in your venture,” said the Colonel, 
with his most satirical sneer. 

Before following the Colonel from the room, Mr. 
Mitchel stooped over and kissed the baby, and held hei 
hand in his for a moment. He had imagined something, 
and wished to confirm or dismiss the idea. While the 
baby had been clasping the Colonel’s thumb, he had 
noted a peculiarity about the Colonel’s hand. The 
knuckle of the third finger was abnormally large, and 
consequently the little finger seemed quite curved at 
the end, from lying against the protruding joint next 


36 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

to it. It had also seemed to him that the baby’s fingers 
were similarly fashioned. He therefore looked at the 
hand more attentively, now that he held it within his 
own, and sure enough he found the large joint of the 
third finger, and the curved end of the fourth. 

“ And you think this hand proves blue blood, Mrs. 
Martin ? ” 

“ I do,” said the Matron, positively. 

“ Then we will make her blue-blooded father provide 
for her,” replied Mr. Mitchel. 

“ That ’s the talk, sir, and' luck go with you,” said 
Mrs. Martin, her first opinion of Mr. Mitchel much 
altered in that gentleman’s favor. 

“ Take care of the little lady till her father calls for 
her,” added Mr. Mitchel. 

“ That I will, sir, and Heaven bless you for a good 
man.” 

Leaving the building, Mr. Mitchel crossed over to 
Third Avenue, and boarded an Elevated train, going 
down town as far as the Chatham Square station, where 
he descended to the street. One minute’s walk brought 
him to the quaint old burial-ground, rising ten feet above 
the street level, and guarded by a brick wall, surmounted 
by an iron fence with spear-topped pickets. As Mr. 
Mitchel stood peering into the place, an Elevated train 
went by with a rumbling noise, reminding him that he 
was in one of the city’s most public thoroughfares. Yet, 
this little graveyard, passed by thousands daily speeding 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH” — FINGERS. 37 

down to their place of business, and surrounded by tene- 
ments crowded to suffocation, had been chosen as a 
fitting spot in which to abandon a child. And only 
one of the many human beings thereabouts had found 
time to interfere in behalf of the stray waif. What an 
astonishing commentary upon civilization, that such 
things could be. 

Mr. Mitchel passed on to the next corner, and turn- 
ing, soon found himself in front of the number given 
to him as the address of Gertrude Griffin. He paused 
a moment, considering what would be the best way to 
find the woman, and then accosted a young “ hoodlum ” 
of ten, who came out of the house. 

“ Do you know whether Gertrude Griffin is at home ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Naw ! How sh’d I know ? I ain’t her keeper.” 

“ But she lives here, does she not ? ” 

“ Maybe she do, and maybe she don’t. I ain’t runnin’ 
this lodgin’ house, so I ain’t ’quainted with the hull gang 
what sleeps here.” 

“ Do you suppose I could go upstairs ? ’ 

“ Sure ! There ain’t nobody holdin’ you, is there ? ” 

With a laugh the incorrigible youngster ran off down 
the street, leaving his questioner as wise as before they 
had met. A number of small children, with pinched 
faces, and inquiring eyes, had gathered about the well- 
dressed man, who was something of a curiosity in the 
neighborhood, and stood gazing at him expectantly. 


38 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. ' 


Believing that he might succeed better with one of the 
girls, Mr. Mitchel accosted a bright-looking child, about 
eight, and asked her if she knew where Gertrude Griffin 
lived ; but the little one shook her head negatively, and 
shyly retreated behind her companions. Patting her 
caressingly on the head, he went into the house. 

The hallway was so narrow that, leaving the sunlight 
without, he found at first that he could see nothing at 
all, the darkness by contrast being so great. In a few 
moments his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and 
he made out that there was a narrow passage-way, on 
either side of which he could see three doors, but at the 
opposite end nothing but inky blackness. Was it possi- 
ble that human beings lived in such structures as this ? 
A loud scuffle, a scream, and the angry voices of a man 
and woman in drunken brawl, coming from the mysteri- 
ous realms somewhere over his head, answered his mental 
query. 

He knocked at the door nearest to him, and, after a 
long wait, it was opened a few inches, and a black- 
bearded head, with two shining eyes, looked out at him. 

“ Vat do you vant ? ” was the greeting in foreign accent. 

“ Does Gertrude Griffin live in this building ? ” asked 
Mr. Mitchel. 

“ How in de vorld should I know ?” was the answer, 
accompanied by a noisy bang of the door as the head 
disappeared, shutting out the whirring sound of sewing- 
machines which had given evidence of life within. 


^ “ UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH” — FINGERS. 39 

The man evidently thought it a preposterous proposi- 
tion that he should know the names of the other occu- 
pants of the building in which he h‘ad his habitation, 
and indeed this is true in much more fashionable quar- 
ters of the great metropolis ; for uptown, where the 
enormous “ tenement ” houses, have the higher sounding 
title of “ Hotel ” or “ Apartment-house,” the inmates 
know as little of each other as they do in the 
“ slums.” 

Thus it began to be apparent to Mr. Mitchel that the 
street and number was an inadequate address in this 
neighborhood, but he was determined to find the 
woman, so he went to the next door, where he received 
no response to continual knockings ; and then to the 
next, where he found a woman who could only speak 
some foreign jargon quite unfamiliar to his ears ; and 
then across the hall where a drunken brute of a man 
reviled him with curses ; and so from door to door, and 
up one flight after another, for he found an unlighted 
stairway at the back of the hall, until at last he stood 
before a door upon the sixth landing, and upon asking 
the woman who opened to him : 

“ Does Gertrude Griffin live here ? ” received for 
answer : 

“ Yes. Are you the Coroner ? ” 

“ Why, no,” replied Mr. Mitchel, astonished at the 
question. “ Why do you ask ? Did you expect the 
Coroner ! ” 


40 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Oh, yes ! That is, I suppose so.” 

“ But why ? Did you send for him ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Then why did you think he would come ? ” 

“ I thought they always did in times like this. My 
baby ’s dead, you know. She died without a doctor.” 
She gulped down the sobs that choked her utterance 
and assumed that stolid face so common among those 
hardened to misery. 

“ Let me come in,” said Mr. Mitchel, gently, and the 
woman made way for him to enter. 

He stood in. a room about nine feet square, ventilated 
by a small window opening upon an air-shaft, and 
lighted by a skylight let in the roof, which was grimy 
and darkened by the accumulated dirt of years. Open- 
ing from this, the living room, in which was a table and 
a cook stove, there was a yet smaller sleeping-room, into 
which not enough light entered to make its contents 
visible from where he stood. As he recalled the fact 
that, as stifling and dark as was this “ flat,” being at the 
top of the house, it must of necessity be better in both 
respects than the floors below, he wondered how one 
human being could plan such a building for others to 
live in. In a recess next to the chimney place, was a 
wooden structure which he supposed was the wash-tub, 
and upon the closed cover of this he saw a tiny form 
covered with a bit of worn but clean cloth, which might 
once have been a sheet. 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH” — FINGERS. 4 1 

“ This is your baby ? ” said he, reverently lifting the 
cloth. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the woman, with a sob. 

Mr. Mitchel heaved a sigh as he gazed upon the 
thin little corpse, too evidently dead from want of 
nourishment. 

“Your first baby ?” he asked. 

“ No, sir. My fourth.” 

“ Your fourth ? Then you have three children alive ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel looked around the place and wondered 
where they all slept, but her reply explained matters. 

“ No sir,” said the stricken mother, “ they are all 
dead. They always live about a year, and then they 
waste away. I think teething does it, and the hot 
weather, sir. It ’s awful hot, here, even on the top 
floor. I moved up, though the stairs is hard, hoping it 
would be better for the little one. But you see it ’s no 
use. God is against me, I guess, though what I ’ve done 
I don’t know.” 

To such as these it is hard to bring the lesson of the 
eternal justice and love of the Almighty Father. Left 
alone in their wretchedness by their fellow-man, what 
wonder that they lose faith in God ? 

“You have done nothing,” said Mr. Mitchel. “What 
has been done is the fault of others. Your condition is 
a result of their greed and selfishness. You are not to 
blame, but neither must you think that the Almighty 
has forgotten you.” 


42 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ I ’m sure I try not to, sir, but sometimes it ’s hard, 
mighty hard, to know what to think.” She bent her head 
and wept softly. 

“Tell me,” said Mr. Mitchel, soothingly, “ how has 
all this come about ? You have a husband, have you 
not ? Cannot he support you ? ” 

“Yes, sir, I ’m a proper married woman, and my hus- 
band ’s a sober, good intendin’ man, and he does his best. 
But times has been hard with us. What with the strikes 
and the Italians coming over, and one thing and another, 
we ’ve been goin’ down these last three years. Patrick, 
my husband ’s an Irishman, sir, gets odd jobs now and 
then, but steady work don’t seem to come his way. Yet 
he ’s a good man at his trade, too. He ’s a bricklayer.” 

“ Where is he now ? ” 

“ Baby died this mornin’ about five o’clock. We was 
both up with her all night. Pat went on like mad, and 
went out early. He ain’t come back. I thought maybe 
he ’d gone to notify the police. He ’d have to do that, 
would n’t he ? ” 

“ I suppose so. But, Mrs. Griffin, do not be despond- 
ent. Of course, death at any time is a dreadful thing, 
but remember, it comes to the rich as well as to the 
poor.” 

“ Yes ! I know other people has their sorrows, but 
the rich has some comforts too, I guess. That makes 
the sorrow easier to bear, I fancy.” She spoke bitterly. 

“ Come, my good woman, you must not speak so, It 


“ UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ” — FINGERS. 43 

is wrong of the rich to neglect the poor, but it is also 
wrong of the poor to look upon the rich as their enemies. 
Many of the wealthiest would be only too glad to do 
away with all the poverty in the land, if only they knew 
how. Fortunately, I am a rich man, and I can at least 
help one deserving family. So cheer up. I will see that 
your baby is properly buried, and I will find work for 
your good man, since you tell me he is a sober, hard- 
working fellow.” 

“ Oh ! May Heaven bless you, and may God forgive 
me for sayin’ that he had forgotten us.” 

She fell upon her knees and would have kissed his 
hand had he permitted. He raised her from the floor 
and made her take a seat on the one chair in the room, 
and now that there had come to her something to arouse 
her from the stolidity of despair, she began to weep 
copiously. 

At this moment the door was rudely opened by a 
vicious kick of a man’s boot, and a drunken, rough-look- 
ing man tottered into the room. At sight of him the 
woman emitted a scream and sprang to his side. 

“ My God, Patrick ! Patrick ! ” she cried. “You ’ve 
been drinkin’ ! You ’ve come home drunk ! ” 

“ You ’re a liar,” cried the fellow, rudely pushing her 
away from him. “ I ’m not drunk ! I ’m crazy, that ’s 
all. Crazy ! I ’m crazy from losin’ my child, so keep 
away from me, or I ’ll do you a hurt. And who ’s this 
bird with the fine feathers ? ” He noticed Mr. Mitchel, 


44 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


and turned upon him threateningly. “ Who ’s this man 
you ’ve brought in here ? ” 

“ Oh Patrick ! Pat, dear, don’t carry on so. This 
gentleman ’s come to help us. Be civil to him, there ’s 
a good man.” Then turning to Mr. Mitchel she added 
entreatingly, “ Don’t mind him, sir. He ’s been drinkin’, 
but it ’s all because of the baby. He ’s a sober man, sir, 
indeed, indeed he is. Don’t hold this up against him.” 
Then to her husband again : “ O Pat ! Pat ! What 
made you ? And I ’ve just been tellin’ what a good man 
you are, and you come home like this ! ” 

“ Like what ? I ’ll come home as I like. It ’s my 
home, such as it is, and them as don’t like it can leave 
it. And as for you, with your pretty clothes, and pretty 
face, I ’ve half a mind to do you up, cornin’ up here an’ 
gloatin’ over the misery of a poor man.” 

He faced Mr. Mitchel and raised an arm threateningly. 
Mr. Mitchel grasping his wrist held it firmly, and speak- 
ing in a tone of command, he said : 

“ Patrick Griffin, you ’ve been drinking.” 

“ I ’ve not,” snarled the man, trying to free his wrist. 

“You are drunk now,” said Mr. Mitchel, “and you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“ He will be ! He will be, when he gets sober,” wailed 
the wife. 

“ I believe so,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ and for your sake, 
and for his, too, since you speak for him, I will forget 
this affair. I will do all that I promised for you. And 


UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ” — FINGERS. 45 


now, Patrick, lie down, and regain your senses as soon as 
possible.” 

The man had found himself mastered, and was stand- 
ing surlily looking down. He now made little resistance 
as Mr. Mitchel drew him towards the bed in the next 
room, and threw him upon it. 

Mr. Mitchel returned to the wife, who again and again 
protested that her husband must have been crazed by 
the loss of their child to have taken a drink, which was 
not hard to believe, all things considered. 

Mr. Mitchel again assured her that proper arrange- 
ments would be made for the funeral of the child, as 
well as for the future of herself and husband, and then 
approached the subject which had prompted his visit. 

“ Now, Mrs. Griffin,” he began, “ I must tell you why 
I came here. I want to know all about the baby that 
was taken from the graveyard back of here.” 

“ It ’s not much I know, sir. I was up on the roof 
one day last week, tryin’ to get a bit more air for my 
own baby, and chancin’ to look down, I thought I saw 
a young one in the grass in the graveyard, I did n’t 
think much of that, but the next day I saw it again, and 
the next day plainer still, ’cause it had crawled out to 
an open spot where the grass was n’t so high, and there 
it lay, as naked as the day it was born, lookin’ up to the 
heaven from which it came. I thought that strange, and 
I would have gone down to see about it, though before 
that, I supposed it belonged to some of the people down 
stairs, and had been put through the window to play in 


4 6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


the grass. But my own baby was so poorly that day, 
that I could n’t spare the time to look after anybody 
else’s. But the next mornin’, my baby was a bit brighter, 
so I went on the roof and looked down. Sure enough 
there was the little one, in the same spot where it was 
the day before. I suppose it was gettin’ too weak to 
crawl about. So I went through the house, but I 
could n’t find no one to claim it, though two or three 
with windows on the graveyard, had seen the baby. But 
they all thought it belonged to someone in the house, 
same ’s I did. Down in the Jew’s place on the first floor 
there was a young girl who had been throwin’ food to 
the baby, and from the way she spoke to me, I almost 
believe it might be hers, only she ’s that young, it don’t 
seem possible. Anyway, that same day I told the police- 
man about it, and he sent word to the Society, and they 
took it away. That ’s all I know.” 

“What is the name of the Jewish girl who fed the 
child?” 

“ Rebecca Polaski, or some such queer name. Any- 
way her first name ’s Rebecca. She lives in the back, 
with her mother and two sisters, and she sews in the 
sweatshop in front.” 

“ What day was it on which you first saw the baby ? ” 

“ Let me see ! It was last Wednesday. I remember 
’cause it was the same day baby took sick.” 

Mr. Mitchel mused a moment and was struck by the 
fact that this was the day after the murder of Mr. Mora. 


“UNTO THE THIRD AND FOURTH ’—FINGERS. 47 


Thanking the woman for what she had told him, and 
again promising her his assistance, he went below, deter- 
mined, if possible, to interview Rebecca Polaski. 

As he was leaving the place he was once more im- 
pressed with the gloom of it, and paused to ask : 

“ Do you know who owns this building ? ” 

“We pays our rent to an agent, Mr. Mortimer, but I 
think the real owner is a Colonel Payton.” 


CHAPTER III. 


REBECCA POLASKI’S STORY. 

M R. MITCHEL groped his way gingerly down 
into the increasing gloom of the stairway. At 
the third landing he passed someone, whose sex 
he vaguely guessed by the fumes of whiskey which 
assailed his nostrils. At length he reached the bottom, 
and stood in the lower hallway looking towards the light 
at the street door, which made the narrow passage strik- 
ingly resemble a tunnel. At the first door to the left he 
stopped and knocked, receiving, as upon his first effort, 
no response. Therefore he passed on, and rapped upon 
the door nearest the street, and once more the bearded 
head of the proprietor protruded just far enough to in- 
quire what was wanted, while the whirring of the sewing- 
machines behind him made his squeaky voice scarcely 
audible. 

“ I wish to speak with Rebecca Polaski,” said Mr. 
Mitchel. 

“ She ’s busy," was the curt reply ; and the man tried 
to close the door, but was forestalled by Mr. Mitchel, 
who thrust his foot between, remarking firmly : 

“ But I tell you I must see her.” 

48 


REBECCA POLASKIS STORY. 


49 


“ Oh, veil, dot makes a diff’rer.ce.” He came out 
into the hall, and closed the door behind him. “ Vhy is- 
it dot you must see Repecca ? Vhat do you vant vid 
her ? ” 

“ I wish to speak with her about a matter of import- 
ance. I will not detain her more than ten minutes.” 

“Ten minutes? Holy Abraham ! How do you sup- 
pose she can fool avay so much time ? She ’s got her 
livin’ to make, my friendt. She could n’t afford to stop 
vork for ten minutes. Ve are not millionaires down 
here.” 

“ How much could she earn in ten minutes ? ” asked 
Mr. Mitchel. 

This disconcerted the old Jew, and he hesitated be- 
fore replying, but presently, with a cunning leer, and 
rubbing his hands together after the manner of his tribe, 
he drawled out : 

“ As to dot, my friendt, dot ’s her pizness, und it ’s 
not my pizness to gif avay oder people’s pizness. Put 
she could make enough to puy a loaf of pread, my tear, 
und a loaf of pread is a good deal in dese hard times.” 

“ A loaf of bread, eh ? Let me see,” said Mr. Mitchel, 
making a quick calculation. “ A loaf of bread is five 
cents, and five cents for ten minutes is thirty cents an 
hour, or about three dollars a day. Is that what she 
earns ? ” 

“Vhat a man you are at figgers,” said the Jew slyly. 
“You ought to be a pawnbroker. But you’re wrong, 

4 


50 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


my tear. I didn’t say a fife cent loaf ; she might puy a 
dree cent loaf, ain’t it ? ” 

“Very well. Then she does not earn more than thirty 
cents an hour. Tell her to come out and talk to me, 
and I will pay her fifty cents for her lost hour.” 

Mr. Mitchel thought that a rest of even an hour might 
be joyfully acceptable to the poor sweatshop slave, and 
would be cheaply purchased. But the greedy ears of 
the Jew were doubly attentive, now that money was 
offered. With a deprecating gesture of his most ex- 
pressive hands, he whined : 

“ Impossible, my tear. .An hour ? A whole hour for 
fifty cents ? You undervalue de vorth of de girl’s time. 
Fifty cents for a whole hour ! Impossible ! Impossible! ” 
“ But you have just admitted that her time is not 
worth as much as thirty cents an hour.” 

“You’re no pizness man, my friendt. You’re too 
rich to understand de leetle details of trade. Dhirty 
cents an hour might be de wholesale price of Repecca’s 
time, but for one hour, dot ’s retail, don’t you see ? ” 

“ No, I don’t see. Explain yourself ! ” 

“ Vid pleasure. I hires de girl py de month, so I get 
her time cheaper dan you can get it, if you only vant one 
hour. It ’s very simple.” 

He smiled blandly, as though making the most ordi- 
nary statement ; but Mr. Mitchel, perceiving the ava- 
ricious intent in the man’s mind, began to be slightly 
angry, and therefore spoke with some asperity : 


REBECCA POLASKl’S STORY. 5 I 

4 

“You just now told me that the girl cannot earn more 
than thirty cents an hour ” 

“ For herself, see? For herself ! For me she might 
be making a couple of dollars. So as her time pelongs 
to me, py contract, if I let her off, vhy I ’m de looser, 
my friendt, and I ’m a poor, hard vorkin' man, vid a large 
family, und ” 

Mr. Mitchel was too disgusted to discuss the subject 
further, so, taking a two-dollar bill from his pocket- 
book, he placed it in the outstretched palm of the old 
screw, and said shortly : 

“ There ’s your price. Now send the girl out to me.” 

The Jew clutched the bill hungrily, yet, either his 
curiosity to know what the stranger wished with the girl, 
or some lingering qualms of conscience, made him hesi- 
tate, and he said : 

“ You ’re very kind, put dis is a leetle irregular. I 
shall haf to ask vhat you vant vid de girl ? You see 
she ’s a respectable girl, and if any harm vas to come 
to her, I should never forgive myself ! Never, so help 
me Abraham ! ” 

This exasperated Mr. Mitchel, and he angrily ex- 
claimed : 

“ Silence, you miserable wretch ! Send the girl out to 
me at once, or I ’ll have an inspector down here within 
an hour, to look into this shop of yours.” 

This threat frightened the old man, for he hastily dis- 
appeared through the door of his apartment, crying : 


52 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Vhat ’s de use of gettiiT madt ? ” 

A few minutes later, a black-haired, slim, and rather 
pretty girl came out, and stared wonderingly at Mr. 
Mitchel. Her skin was like putty, her eyes sunken, her 
cheeks hollow, and she looked tired almost to the limit 
of her endurance ; yet, withal, she had traces of beauty 
about her, even as the dead and faded rose gives evi- 
dence of what it once has been. 

Rebecca Polaski was really not more than seventeen ; 
but the Jewish maidens attain maturity earlier than their 
Christian sisters, and the fulness of her figure excused 
the doubt in Mrs. Griffin’s mind, though as Mr. Mitchel 
gazed into her sad young eyes, he thought it highly im- 
probable that she knew ought of the foundling, save 
what she might have learned by chance. However, she 
had fed the little one with remnants from her own 
meagre supply, and whatever she did know, might be 
well worth the inquiry. 

“ You are Rebecca Polaski ?” he asked gently. 

“ Yes, sir,” she replied with little or no accent. 

“ You live in the back rooms ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Take me into them. I wish to have a talk with you.” 
Then, as she hesitated, and threw a half-frightened glance 
behind her, he continued ; “ Have no fear. You will 
lose nothing. I have arranged with your employer so 
that you may remain out an hour.” 

The prospect of so long a rest lighted her eyes with a 


REBECCA POLASKl’S STORY. 


53 


momentary beam of pleasure, and Mr. Mitchel was more 
than repaid for the money given in her behalf. She led 
the way into the back rooms, and opening the shutters 
disclosed a view of the graveyard, only a few feet be- 
neath. She then dropped wearily upon an empty soap 
box, and motioned her visitor to a seat upon the one 
chair, the cane of which was almost entirely torn away. 
The flat was about the same as the one which he had 
seen on the upper floor, though the window opening on 
the outer world let in light and air which made the 
place so much the more cheerful. 

How strange that what should be freest, and most 
plentifully at the command of all, should become an 
actual commodity, through the cupidity of mankind ! 
For one man erects a tall building, darkening the homes 
of others, and then sets a higher rental on those apart- 
ments in his own structure, which are best ventilated 
and lighted. What wonder that the communists, social- 
ists, and other revolutionary sects, find attentive audi- 
ences ? Mr. Mitchel thought of this and sighed as he 
asked : 

“ What rent do you pay for this place ? ” 

“ Three dollars a week,” was the reply, and then she 
added : “ We could have the flat next door for two and 
a half, but it is dreadfully dark, though we could put up 
with that, ’cause we ’re mostly at home only in the 
night time. But there ’s no air except from the shaft, 
and the horrid smells made my mother sick.” 


54 


the crime oe The century. 


So even on this ground-floor there was an extra charge 
for a window ! 

“ What do you earn in the shop ? ” was Mr. Mitchel’s 
next inquiry. 

“ When I feel strong and well I can make seventy-five 
cents a day in the shop, but mostly only fifty ; and may- 
be twenty-five cents more doing extra work.” 

Mr. Mitchell looked savagely towards the sweatshop, 
the proprietor of which had charged him two dollars for 
releasing the girl from her task, when he himself paid 
her such a pittance for the day’s work. 

“ How many hours a day do you w r ork ? ” he asked. 

“ About ten, though sometimes longer, if I ’m tired 
and don’t finish up.” 

“ What do you mean by extra work ?” 

“ Sometimes he lets us take work home to do nights, 
and he pays us half price for that.” 

“What? You work ten hours for a day’s task, and 
then he pays you half rates' for overtime? Why should 
you get less for night work, than for work in the day ? ” 

“ Well, you see, he says working in the night, when 
our eyes are tired, we can’t do as good work. We only 
get the cheaper sort to take home.” 

Mr. Mitchel could find no words with which to ex- 
press his feelings. The utter selfishness of such sophis- 
try, the greed of the man who would thus swindle his 
poor employees, utterly amazed him. And the oddest 
thing was that the girl made no complaint, accepting 


REBECCA POLASKl’S STORY. 


55 


her lot as a matter of course, a fact beyond dispute. 
Yet, observe her position ! She worked ten hours per 
day for her slave-driving master, earning enough per 
week to pay the greedy landlord for her shelter : the 
mother and sisters, by similar drudgery finding the 
food and clothing for the family. 

“ What is the name of your employer,” he asked pres- 
ently. 

“ Herman Polaski.” 

“ Polaski ? But that is your name. Is he a relative ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. My uncle.” 

Her uncle ! Comment seemed superfluous. Mr. 
Mitchel paused to think, and the girl rambled on. 

“ Uncle Herman ’s been very kind to us. I don’t 
know what we would have done without his help. 
Starved I guess. You see, father was sick a long, long 
time, an’ all the money we had, went to the doctor an’ 
for funeral expenses. Then we had nothing. So Uncle 
gave us all work in his shop, though he said he did n't 
need any more hands, an’ it was just taking money out 
of his own pocket to hire us. We don’t earn much, but 
anyway we ’ve lived on our wages for over a year now.” 

The girl’s gratitude was in strange contrast with the 
greed of her father’s brother, who had not hesitated 
to benefit by the distress of his relatives. Mr. Mitchel 
felt a great sympathy for this poor family of women, and 
would gladly have opened his pocket-book in their 
behalf, but he realized the magnitude of this problem of 


56 


THE CRIME OE THE CENTURY. 


aid to the poor. He had gone into but two homes ; in 
one he had promised assistance, and in the other he 
found the same need, inviting the same remedy. But 
were he to go on, and visit tenement after tenement, 
home after home, how soon would his resources be at an 
end, and how little would he have accomplished, towards 
lessening the suffering on the great East Side ! He felt 
the helplessness of the situation more than he had ever 
done when theorizing about it, and for the moment he 
decided that he might better confine himself to his 
special object. 

“ I have heard that you saw the baby which was 
taken from the graveyard next door,” he began. 

“Yes, sir,” she replied, and then stared at him, evi- 
dently alarmed at his question. 

“ Tell me about it,” he asked persuasively. “ Tell me 
all that you know.” 

She looked at him sadly and thoughtfully, and then, to 
his astonishment, burst into tears, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, don’t put me in prison ! Please don’t take me 
to prison ! Mother ’d starve if you locked me up ! ” 

“ My dear girl,” said Mr. Mitchel, soothingly. “ What 
are you saying ? What have you done ? Why should 
you be put in prison ? ” 

She endeavored to control herself and finally between 
her sobs he caught the words : 

“ Don’t — don’t — they put — wit — witnesses, — in — in 


REBECCA POLASKTs STORY. 


5 7 


At last he understood. This girl knew something, 
but was not herself guilty of any wrong. She had wit- 
nessed the crime which had been committed, and she 
knew enough of our laws to understand that she could 
be held a prisoner, as a witness needed by the state, 
under a law which thus works great injustice to many. 

“ There ! there ! ” said he. “ Don’t weep ! You 
have nothing to fear. I am not an officer, and you shall 
not be locked up. I promise you that, but I wish you 
to tell me all that you know. Come, won’t you trust 
me?” 

“Yes — sir — I’ll — trust you,” she answered timidly, 
wiping away her tears. Then after a few moments she 
had composed herself, and began her story : 

“ You see, sir, one night last week, I had some extra work 
to do, an’ I tried hard to finish it, ’cause mother needed the 
money for medicine. She ’s got a bad cough. But I was 
so tired that I could n’t sew, an’ about nine o’clock I had 
to go to bed. But I could n’t sleep very well. Every 
now an’ then I ’d hear mother cough, an’ I ’d think of 
the work I had n’t finished, an’ I ’d try to get up to go at 
it again. But I was so dead with sleep too, that I just 
could n’t. But after a long time I heard the clock strike 
twelve, an’ I knew that if I was goin’ to get the work 
done, I ’d have to get up, sleep or no sleep. So I made 
a jump an’ landed on the floor, in a heap. I guess I 
hurt myself a little, ’cause it woke me up complete. 
Then I thought I was suffocatin’, the room was so hot 


58 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


an’ stifling, an’ I went to the window, an’ stood breathin’ 
the fresh air. That ’s how I came to see him.” 

“ Whom did you see ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, eagerly. 

“ A man. At first I could n’t make out what he was 
doin’. He was walkin’ about stealthy like, an’ he had a 
bundle in his arms. He came pretty close to the win- 
dow, ’cause he was walkin’ near the wall, but he had his 
head down when I first seen him, an’ then afterwards he 
had his back to me. It was dark, too, bein’ very cloudy. 
Well, he went a little way out, to the tree you see there, 
an’ he stooped down and began to fumble with the 
bundle. I could see he was unwrappin’ somethin’, but I 
could n’t make out what it was, ’cause he laid it behind 
the tombstone. Then he stood up straight for a minute, 
an’ just then the cloud went away an’ the moon shone 
out bright, an’ I could see his face just as plain as 
anything.” 

“ Did you know him ? ” 

“ No, but I ’m good at rememberin’ faces ! ” 

“ You mean that you would know him again ? ” 

“ Anywhere ? I ’d pick him out of a million ! The 
moon shinin’ on his face made it look like a ghost, an' 
it ’s ha’nted me ever since. Why, in the dark o’ nights, if 
I shut my eyes I see that face starin’ at me ! Oh, yes ! 
I ’d know him again.” 

“ You say you saw him place the child behind a 
tombstone ? ” 

“ No ! I did n’t see the baby then, though I heard a 


REBECCA POLASKl’S STORY. 


59 


baby cry, but that ’s common ’round this neighborhood, 
an’ I did n’t think anything of it. But I seen him put 
somethin’ behind the stone, and when I seen the baby in 
the grass the next day, I felt sure the man had put it 
there.” 

“ What did he do after you saw his face ? Did he see 
you in the moonlight ? ” 

“ No ! I don’t think he was exactly lookin’ my way, 
though his face was turned so ’s I could see it. He stood 
just a minute, then he picked up somethin’ from the 
grass, an’ he went over behind another tombstone, where 
I could see him though, an’ he dug a hole an’ put what- 
ever he had in it. Then he stood up an’ trampled down 
the grass with his feet. Then he watched his chance, 
w r hen no one was passin’, and climbed over the fence, 
an’ that ’s the last I seen of him.” 

“ And. when did you discover that he had left a baby 
in the grass ? ” 

“ I sat up the rest of the mornin’ sewin’, till time to 
go to breakfast. We had some bread and milk I re- 
member, an’ after eatin’ I went to the window to scrape 
the crumbs out of the plates, when I heard a baby cry. 
This time it sounded so near, I looked down, an’ I nearly 
dropped the plate, I was so surprised an’ so scared, to 
see that little baby without any clothes on, crawlin’ about 
in the grass.” 

“ But why were you alarmed ? ” 

“ I knew right off that the man had left the baby an’ 


6o 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


I ’d seen him do it, an’ I was afraid it would be found 
out, an’ I would be arrested ’cause I knew about it. 
An’ you see we just barely make enough to live on now, 
an’ what would mother do if she did n’t have me to help 
her?” 

“ But I heard that you threw food to the baby,” said 
Mr. Mitchel. 

“I had to. I fretted all that day thinkin’ about what 
had happened an’ wonderin’ if the baby would be found, 
an’ if the police would come an’ ask me questions. An’ 
that seemed so likely, ’cause our rooms open right on 
the graveyard. An’ I knew that if they asked me what 
I knew, I ’d just blurt the whole thing out, an’ then 
where ’d I be ? Locked up for a certainty, till they 
found the man an’ made me identify him. Then I got 
another idea, that made my blood freeze in my veins. 
Suppose nobody found the baby ? It would die ! It 
would starve to death ! An’ would n’t I be held for 
that ? Would n’t I have helped the man to kill the baby, 
by not tellin’ what I knew ? So you see it looked like 
I ’d have to go to prison anyway, but I thought I ’d 
prevent the baby from dyin’. So I just made an excuse 
an’ I went to our rooms intendin’ to throw it some food, 
but I could n’t see it anywhere. An’ when I thought it 
had crawled away where I could n’t throw food to it, it 
just made me sick an’ weak. I was that scared I dropped 
in a heap on the floor an’ leaned against the window- 
sill, an’ cried. Then I happened to look up, an’ my 


REBECCA POLASKIS STORY. 


6 1 


heart gave a big jump, for there was the baby crawlin’ 
from behind a tombstone. I called to the poor little 
dear, an’ she stopped an’ looked up at me, an’ smiled. 
She seemed to know that I meant to help her. Then I 
got some bread an’ soaked it in milk, an’ I dropped it 
down. You ought to have seen the little thing come 
right for it, an’ pretty soon she had it in her hands an’ 
was suckin’ away for dear life. Then I went back to 
my work more light-hearted.” 

“ And you fed the child after that, did you not ? ” 
“Yes, sir. I think she got to know me, ’cause when 
I ’d go to the window to throw her the bread, she ’d be 
waitin’ an’ she always looked up an’ smiled like. Oh, 
dear ! I ’d have given my life to go down and bring her 
up stairs, but I did n’t dare, I was that afraid of the 
police. But at last I told Mrs. Griffin about my feedin’ 
the baby, an’ she told the policeman.” 

“Two things that you have told me are very im- 
portant, Miss Polaski. You say, in the first place, that 
you saw the man’s face, and that you would know him 
again ? ” 

“ Anywhere ! I would know him among a million ! ” 
“Very well, I may ask you to point him out to me at 
some time. The other thing of importance is, that you 
say the man buried something behind one of the tomb- 
stones. I wish you to point out as nearly as you can the 
spot where you saw him digging.” 

She went to the window and indicated a headstone 


62 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


which stood in the shadow of the tree near-by, and taking 
the chance of being observed from the street, Mr. Mit- 
chel stepped upon the window-sill and dropped to the 
ground. It was not long before he found where the sod 
had been overturned and replaced. Scratching away 
the loose earth, his fingers came upon something which 
he drew forth and held up before him. It was a baby’s 
slip, in one corner of which he found what he hoped 
would d>e a name. Instead it proved to be a tiny flower 
done in embroidery silk. 

Returning to the house by climbing through the 
window, he showed this to the girl and asked : 

“ What flower do you call that ? ” 

Without hesitation she replied : 

“ A lily of the valley.” 

“ A lily of the valley,” murmured Mr. Mitchel. 4< And 
the valley was the valley of the shadow of death,” he 
mused, as he took his departure. 


CHAPTER IV. 


SLIPPERY SAM. 

M R. MITCHEL left the tenement house with 
mixed feelings. He believed that he had made 
considerable progress in the investigation, and 
thought that, in his place, Mr. Barnes would have been 
proud of himself ; yet he felt depressed. Remember- 
ing his own wealth, and his luxurious home up town, 
such penury as he had just witnessed made him dissatis- 
fied with himself. 

He went directly to an undertaker, and gave orders 
for the burial of Mrs. Griffin’s child, and he sent a 
plentiful supply of groceries to her house ; nevertheless 
he could not avoid the thought that this was but a trifle 
compared with what the rich might do for the poor. 

He next went to Apollo Hall. Here he thought that 
he might divert his mind, for here it was that young 
Mora claimed to have passed the night on which his 
father was killed. As his mind reverted to the Mora 
case, Mr. Mitchel wondered at the sudden interest which 
he had taken in the other, and smiled as he thought of 
how little Mr. Barnes would relish his neglect of his 
“ crime of the century.” 


63 


6 4 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Apollo Hall, situated as it is in the very heart of the 
East Side slums, which in the minds of those who have 
only read of the section, are inevitably associated with 
degradation, dirt, and crime, is a surprise to the visitor. 
The building itself is attractive in its architecture, and 
inviting in its general aspect. On the first floor there is 
a bar-room, from which a wide staircase leads to the hall 
above. This is spacious, and prettily decorated with 
bunting, which hangs from the polished rafters. The 
ceiling is high, and the floor waxed smooth for dancing. 
Here take place the weddings, balls, soirees, lectures, 
indignation meetings, political conclaves, and occasional 
riots that enliven the vicinity. 

Mr. Mitchel looked around with interest, and having 
read an announcement that a professor of dancing would 
begin his regular season on a stated date, and that the 
charge as usual would be ten cents per lesson, he at last 
understood why it is that the children of the street, dance 
as well to the tunes of the piano-organs, as do the gradu- 
ates of Marwig at the debuta,7ite's ball. 

Leaning against the bar he found a dispenser of 
drinks, who was easily induced to talk, and after a few 
general remarks by way of introducing his topic, he 
asked : 

“ Do you know this Mr. Mora who has been accused 
of killing his father ? ” 

“ Never heard of him till I saw his name in the paper,” 
replied the barkeeper with a coarse laugh. 


SLIPPERY SAM. 65 

“ But he claimed that he was in this place on that 
night,” persisted Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Yes, I know he did. He proved his alibi as neat as 
wax. I guess he ’s fly, that fellow.” 

“ But are you not pretty well acquainted with the peo- 
ple who come here ? ” 

“ Well, rather ! There don’t nobody get in without 
my seeing him. I keep the door.” 

“ And if Mr. Mora had been here, would you not have 
seen him ? ” 

The barkeeper, by way of reply, winked one eye 
knowingly, grinned, and with a flourish slapped upon 
the bar the drink which he had been mixing for his 
customer. 

“ Well then,” continued Mr. Mitchel, “ perhaps you 
know the two men who swore at the inquest that they 
saw Mr. Mora here ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! I know them right enough ! ” 

“ Are they reliable ? ” 

“ Re-li-able ? ” repeated the barkeeper, pronouncing 
each syllable separately, and, accenting the last two with 
significant emphasis, he laughed at his own wit, as he 
continued his rude joke. “ Well, now, you ’ve just hit 
them off. They ’re liable to lie, and to re-lie accord- 
ing to price offered. Why, for a silver quarter with a 
hole in it, either one of that pair would swear his mother 
was a cigar-store Indian. So you see what a beautiful 

alibi they let that duck off on. Oh, I tell you -this is a 
s 


66 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


great town for some folks, especially them that has the 
price, and pays their way.” 

“ Then you do not believe that Mora was here ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t go as far as to say what I believe. I ’m 
an unbeliever, I am. All I say is it ain’t proven that he 
was here. He might have been, you know, under some 
other name. Only if he was, them fellows told the truth 
for once in their lives, and that would be queer, the 
both of them honest the same day. That would be 
funny.” He chuckled till his fat form shook like a bag 
of jelly. 

“ Still, as you say,” pursued Mr. Mitchel, “ it is possi- 
ble after all that he was here ? ” 

“ Oh ! Yes ! It ’s possible ! Anything ’s possible. To- 
day might be Tuesday, only it ain’t.” 

“Still on the chance that, as you suggest, he has 
visited this Hall, and is known to you under another 
name, I should like to have an opportunity of seeing him 
here. He claims that he comes here to study the con- 
dition of the poor, but I think it more probable that if 
he comes at all there is some other attraction.” 

“ In petticoats, eh ! ” said the barkeeper with a laugh. 
“Say! You ain’t no fool yourself. Are you a detec- 
tive ? ” 

He asked this last question so suddenly, and looked 
at Mr. Mitchel so attentively, while trying to seem busy 
polishing a glass, that Mr. Mitchel instantly decided that 
it would be wise to disabuse his mind of that idea, if he 


SLIPPERY SAM. 67 

hoped to retain his friendly aid. Therefore he said 
without a moment’s hesitation : 

“ Oh, no ! I am a reporter.” 

“ Then you ’re welcome, any time, and I ’m at your 
service.” A certain brightening up of the man’s counte- 
nance assured Mr. Mitchel that his answer had been a 
wise one. The fellow continued : “ Say, you ’ve got 
that Mora chap dead to rights. If he comes down here, 
he don’t give his own name, you can bet on that, and he 
ain’t visiting this neighborhood for the good of the neigh- 
bors. There ’s a girl in it or my name ain’t what it is. 
Say, I ’ll tell you what ! The dancing school opens Sat- 
urday night, with a swarry. You be down, and I ’ll do 
what I can to tell you who ’s who ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel thanked him for his offer and tossing him 
a dollar in payment for his drink, bade him keep the 
change, which he did, passing the silver coins to his 
pocket with the dexterity of an expert. Turning to 
leave the place, Mr. Mitchel was attracted by a picture 
tacked to the wall. It was a crude lithograph in garish 
colors, and represented the face of a rather pretty girl. 
But what most interested him was the fact, that in the 
picture the girl wore a single blossom of lily of the valley, 
as a head-dress, while printed below were the words : 

“ MISS LILIAN VALE, THE LILY OF THE VALLEY.” 

“Who is this girl ?” asked Mr. Mitchel, turning again 
to the bar, and pointing at the lithograph. 


68 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Say ! She ’s a peach, she is. The best in the busi- 
ness ! ” The barkeeper lowered his voice to a confiden- 
tial whisper. “ I ’m stuck on the Lily myself, but there 
are others, and I guess I ain’t in it.” He shrugged his 
shoulders as though expressing resignation at the thought 
of living without her. “ She ’s a serio-comic, and does 
turns in the halls on the Bowery. But she ’s too good 
for that sort, ’cause she ’s got a voice like a bird. She 
ought to be on Broadway, she ought. She could sing 
right ’long side of Lillian Russell, and it would be a toss 
up which Lillian got the most applause. I tell you she’s 
a wonder.” 

“ Do you know where she is singing at present ? ” 

“ Well, it ’s summer now you know, and as she ain’t got 
called to the roof gardens up town yet, I guess she ’s out 
of work. In fact, come to think of it, it ’s a long time 
since she ’s sung any place. See the date on that bill ? 
It ’s over a year old. Funny I never thought of that 
before.” He seemed quite taken aback, and lost in 
thought for a few moments. 

“ Do you know her personally ? ” Mr. Mitchel asked. 
This aroused him at once. 

“ Do I ? Well I guess ! Many ’s the turn I ’ve had 
with her in the mazy waltz, upstairs.” 

“ Then she comes here sometimes?” 

“ Oh, yes ! She ’s around pretty regular. She ’ll be 
at the opening swarry, sure. You be here, and I ’ll give 
you a knock-down.” 


SLIPPERY SAM. 


69 


Considering her name, and remembering the emblem 
worked on the baby’s slip, Mr. Mitchel promised himself 
much interest in meeting the young singer, and assured 
the barkeeper that he would be present at the dance. 

He had walked less than a block after leaving Apollo 
Hall, when a short man, with an eye that never met the 
gaze of another, suddenly appeared beside him, leaving 
a doubt as to whence he had come. In a sepulchral 
whisper the newcomer addressed him. 

“ I say, Mister ! Can I see you a minute ? ” 

“Yes! What do you want?” said Mr. Mitchel. 
Then thinking that the man must be a beggar, he took 
out a dime and offered it to him, but the fellow declined 
it with a grin. 

“ No, sir,” said he. “ T’anks awfully, but dat ain’t me 
price. I ’m no beggar.” 

“ Well then, what are you ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, sharply. 

“ I ’m a crook. Just a plain, simple crook. Slippery 
Sam ’s my name, what ’s yours ? ” 

The audacity of the man attracted Mr. Mitchel, and 
looking upon him for a moment as a curiosity, he said : 

“ You are a crook, eh ? Then why might I not hand 
you over to the police ? ” 

“ Time wasted, and nothin’ gained. I done my time 
for my last job, and I ’ve lived straight ever since. So 
what could they hold me for, eh ? ” 

“ How long have you been out of prison ?” 

“Two weeks, and I ain’t struck no money since I 


7 ° 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


reached town, straight or crooked. But I seen you give 
that barkeep’ your change, and says I to myself, says I, 
* Sam, that man ’s your meat.’ ” 

“ And what may that elegant expression signify?” 

“ It signifies that you ’ve got money to burn, and I 
want some of it.” 

“ Do you mean to get it by robbery ? ” 

“ Not unless you force me into crime,” said Slippery 
Sam, looking at Mr. Mitchel so quizzically that the 
latter laughed outright. 

The fellow was evidently an original character ; one 
of those whose destiny is to see the humorous side of life. 
Such as he would be the light spirit of a party, whether 
in club-room or prison cell. Continuing the conversa- 
tion Mr. Mitchel said : 

“I have no wish to make you steal, but how else do 
you expect to get money from me ? ” 

“ In exchange for information,” was the quick 
response. 

“ What information have you to give ?” 

“ None ! My information is for sale.” 

“Very good. I ’ll buy it, if it is worth anything.” 

“ I knew you would. That ’s why I followed you. 
You told the barkeep’ that you are a reporter ?” 

“ I did.” 

“ Too thin ! Not by no means ! ” 

“ How do you know that I am not a reporter ?” 

“ Them diamonds is too white,” replied the crook. 


SLIPPERY SAM. 


71 


Mr. Mitchel blushed, and thought of how he would 
have guyed Mr. Barnes in such a predicament. That he 
should have made a claim the falsity of which had been 
so readily discerned by a member of that class whose 
intelligence he had always held to be so poor, disturbed 
his vanity. * Evidently it would be necessary to be more 
alert if he should pursue this investigation. Turning to 
his companion with more respect, he said : 

“ Well then, if I am not a reporter, what am I, since 
you are so smart ? ” 

“ No offense, I ’m sure,” was the reply. “ I got onto 
you, that ’s all. I ain’t very fly, but I ain’t such a chump 
as that barkeep’. Why, he asked if you was a detective, 
and anybody with half an eye could see you did n’t 
belong to that set. But you ain’t no reporter neither. 
I ’ll tell you what you are. You ’re a gentleman. One 
of the real sort. What you ’re up to in this section, is 
none of my business, only as I can give you tips, in 
exchange for cash.” 

“ Yes, but what information have you to impart, which 
you think I would care to buy ? ” 

“ Well, the fact is, I guess if you ’re after anything 
special I ain’t in it. But I say, if you ’d like to see a 
sight as would make the old man in Mulberry Street 
open his eyes, I ’m your guide.” 

“ Speak more plainly ! ” 

“ Say, would you mind turnin’ round and walkin’ the 
other way ? That duck over there, lookin’ so innocent 


72 


THE CRIME OE THE CENTURY. 


into that cigar-store, is a detec, in plain clothes. He ain’t 
seen me yet, an’ I ’d rather he would n’t.” 

“ I thought you had done nothing to make you fear 
the police,” said Mr. Mitchel, turning, however, and 
retracing his steps. 

“ Neither have I, but then you see, by this time to- 
morrow I might want to prove I was in Jersey City to-day. 
You can never tell, and it would be awkward for that 
chap to swear he ’d seen me down here. See ? But 
about this little circus. I s’pose you know, that since 
the Lexow Committee cleared up things, this town ’s been 
run like a Sunday-school. All the gamblin’ places shut 
up tight, with rooms to let, eh ? Well, s’pose I could 
take you to a place where there was just the fanciest kind 
of a lay-out ; faro, poker, roulette, everything. How 
would that strike you ? ” 

“ I would not give ten cents to visit such a place.” 

“ Wait a minute, Mister. There ’s more. S’pose I was 
to tell you that the place was run on a steamboat ? That 
we do a moonlight excursion down the bay, to cover up 
tracks. How then ? ” 

“ If your statement is true, it is interesting, of course. 
But I ’m not connected with the police, and the arrest of 
such people is nothing to me.” 

“ I guess you ’re straight enough,” said the crook in an 
odd tone, and it dawned upon Mr. Mitchel that the fel- 
low had been sounding him for fear that after all he 
might be a detective. His replies had been so honestly 


SLIPPERY SAM. 73 

made, that even Slippery Sam was satisfied, for in lower 
tones he added: 

“ I did n’t think you ’d care for that. But I calculate 
you ’re lookin’ into crime as a kind of study. Am I right ? ” 

“You are,” said Mr. Mitchel, admiring the fellow’s 
astuteness. 

“ Good ! ” said the crook. “ Then I ’ve got you. What 
do you say to attendin’ a lecture on crime, to an audience 
of crooks ?” 

“ And who is to deliver the lecture ? ” 

“ Why Preacher Jim, we call him. He ’s the longest- 
headed, smartest, bravest, and squarest crook in New 
York City.” He spoke with evident admiration. “ I 
tell you, it makes me feel mean offerin’ to sneak you into 
this lecture, but if I was n’t sure you would n’t make use 
of what you ’ll see to git some of the boys in quod, I ’d 
cut my heart out first, or yours.” For a moment he 
looked vicious enough to carry out his threat upon the 
spot. But in a moment he had resumed his suave tone, 
and continued : “ But what ’s a man to do when he ain’t 

got a nickle to his name, and he meets a gent as easy to 
get money out of as you are ? I tell you the temptation ’s 
too much for Slippery Sam.” 

Mr. Mitchel laughed heartily at this estimate of him- 
self, and then said : 

“ Yes, my man, you have now offered me something 
for which I am willing to pay liberally. Where is this 
lecture to be delivered, and when ? ” 


74 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“You won’t have long to wait, ’cause it ’s to-night. 
The place is the steamboat I spoke of. The floatin’ 
gamblin’ palace. The B. S. U.’s have chartered the boat 
for to-night.” 

“ And who are the B. S. U.’s ?” 

“The Burglars’ Social Union. Sounds like a queer 
society to you, don’t it ? Well, it ’s queerer than you 
think. Oh, you ’ll have a good time for your money.” 

“ I suppose I shall need some special dress in order 
not to excite suspicion, shall I not ? ” 

“Not a bit of it. Say, Mister, you never made a big- 
ger mistake in your life. Why, if you was to go masquer- 
adin’ in clothes you ain’t accustomed to, you ’d give your- 
self away in ten minutes. I tell you the crowd on that 
boat to-night ’ll have brains, and you want to keep cool. 
No, sir, dress natural, and you ’ll feel natural ; and as 
you ’ll feel, you ’ll act. Say ! Do you know it ’s the fun- 
niest notion, folks has, them as don’t know, I mean, that a 
thief dresses different from other people ? Why should 
he, now ? Tell me that? Why, if he did, would n’t every- 
body be onto him in a second ? Well, I guess !” 

“Very true! But would it not be best not to wear 
such expensive clothing ? And then my diamonds ; they 
attracted your attention, you know.” 

“ Oh, there ’ll be just as good clothes there, and just 
as good diamonds. But then, as you ain’t a regular 
crook — no offense meant — why I guess you ’d better 
leave your best stones at home. There ’s some men so 


SLIPPERY SAM. 


75 


mean they ’d rob the dead, much less a brother crook. 
Of course you 've got to pass for a thief. You don’t mind 
that ? ” 

“No! Not at all,” replied Mr. Mitchel, laughing. 
“ And now where shall we meet ? ” 

“Seven sharp. Foot of Jay Street. Good place for 
a crowd like ours, eh ? ” He laughed at his own feeble 
wit, and his hand closed eagerly over a ten-dollar bill 
which Mr. Mitchel handed to him. “ A tenner ! Pretty 
good for a start. T’anks ! I knew you was the genuine 
article, the minute I spotted you. Well, so long ! 
Jay Street ! Seven sharp !” and Slippery Sam disap- 
peared into a by-way, so quickly that Mr. Mitchel won- 
dered as he walked on, how the police had ever caught 
him at all. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 

P ROMPTLY at seven o’clock Mr. Mitchel was at the 
appointed place, where he waited long enough to 
begin to doubt that Slippery Sam would keep his 
tryst, when suddenly that worthy appeared at his side, 
like a sprite in a pantomime. Evidently he enjoyed the 
trick of stepping forth from places of concealment, for 
he chuckled at the surprise which he created, and re- 
marked : 

“ Excuse me, mister, but I ’ve got my reputation to 
keep up, see ! ” 

“ Ah, yes, of course,” replied Mr. Mitchel, remem- 
bering the fellow’s name. “ Well, you see I have come. 
Are you still willing to take me to this meeting of your 
friends ? ” 

“ Why, cert ! What am I here for ? You follow me, 
and all I ’ve got to say is, keep your eyes peeled, and 
your mouth shut, and you won’t git into no trouble. By 
the way, what line are you in ? ” 

“ What line am I in ? Oh ! You mean what sort of 
crime is my specialty ? ” 

“ You ’re fly, Mister. You see, you ’ve got to be intro- 
76 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 77 

duced, and we ’d better fix up your trade before we git 
started, so ’s to have no slips.” 

“Well, then,” said Mr. Mitchel, slightly amused at 
his anpmalous position, “ as an expert, what would 
you advise ? What sort of a crook do I look most 
like ? ” 

“ That ’s the trouble,” said Sam, scratching his head 
by way of assisting thought. “ You look so much like 
the genuine gentleman, it ’s hard to place you. Say, 
I ’ve got it, by ginger! You ’re a bank-note engraver, 
that ’s what you are. Regular trade I mean, but you do 
an occasional job with the queer, and you ’ve never been 
spotted yet, see ? That ’s why you ain’t known out of 
your own private circle. What ’s more, you ’ve just 
dropped in to hear the lecture, but you ain’t lookin’ for 
no new pals, nor you ain’t extendin’ your operations into 
other lines. That ’s the ticket. That ’s as safe as a 
string. No inquisitive questions answered, and no new 
friends desired.” 

“ Very good, but how do I happen to know you ?” 

“ Oh, me ? Oh, as to me, that 's simple. One of 
your pals is up the river for carelessness in changin’ a 
bill. I met him, and he give me a message to you when 
I come out. I ’m hard up, and you ’re stakin’ me till I 
git on easy street. How does that strike you ? ” 

The insidious naiveti of the latter part of this answer 
tickled Mr. Mitchel’s fancy, and he laughed aloud, as 
he replied : 


78 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ I say, my man, you Te an original in your way. Yes, 
I ’ll stake you for awhile.” 

Slippery Sam led the way along the docks, keeping in 
the shadows from force of habit, rather than from any 
necessity, since no member of the police force appeared 
in sight, until presently he darted quickly to the right, 
disappearing with his customary celerity. Mr. Mitchel 
awaited his return with patience, and in a few minutes 
was attracted by a low whistle which seemed to come 
from beneath him. Looking down, he descried a small 
boat in the shadow of the dock, manned by two power- 
ful oarsmen, and in the bow stood his late companion 
beckoning to him. Comprehending that it was meant 
that he should enter the boat, he climbed down the rot- 
ten sides of the dock and dropped, the men, as soon as 
he was seated, rowing silently and quickly away. 

No words were spoken, as they picked their way out 
into the Hudson, the men avoiding the wash of the great 
ferry-boats with a skill which indicated that they were 
experienced watermen. Turning down the river, they 
rowed for more than a mile between the shores of the 
two cities, the many lights of which make a beautiful 
stage picture, and bewilder one unaccustomed to the 
night view of the shores, so that it would be impossible 
to locate the spot where they finally stopped and boarded 
a small excursion steamboat, which itself was moving 
slowly down the river. 

Slippery Sam stood up and threw a rope to a man 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 79 


standing near the rail of the steamboat, and they were 
hauled up close alongside. Mr. Mitchel and Sam were 
helped aboard, and the boat which had brought them 
dropped astern. A few minutes later, the speed of the 
steamboat was greatly accelerated, indicating that no 
more passengers were expected, and within an hour she 
had passed out between the great guns of the two forts 
which guard the Narrows, and was riding lazily on the 
ocean highway between Sandy Hook and Coney Island. 

The Siren was one of the many small steam vessels 
licensed to take excursionists from the metropolis to the 
many resorts within two hours’ sail of the Battery. The 
captain and owner, being himself a member of the sport- 
ing fraternity, had scented a good thing for himself when 
the sudden activity of the police, due to legislative in- 
vestigation, had resulted in the closing of the city gam- 
bling rooms. He had therefore summoned a few of the 
professional gamesters, and quickly interested them in 
his venture. They were to “ run the games ” while he 
“ would run the boat,” as one of the men tersely put it. 

To this end the forward cabin had been elaborately 
fitted up with the necessary implements, all of which, 
however, were of the portable order, in case of emer- 
gency. There were two faro dealers, two roulette 
wheels, and a number of tables for poker. As the boat 
already enjoyed the advantages of a bar license, liquor 
could be had on demand. There were many electric 
lights, but the windows were closely curtained, lest too 


8o 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


much of an illumination should attract the suspicion of 
the harbor police. 

Interference however, was scarcely probable, for the 
captain had cunningly devised a plan whereby the 
nefarious traffic was concealed. He had early in the 
season abandoned all regular trips, and advertised his 
boat to hire for private excursion parties. And so care- 
ful was he, that in furtherance of this scheme he nomi- 
nally entertained a different “ society ” or “ club ” each 
night, and admittance was strictly by ticket. By this 
means it was very difficult for any but the “ elect ” to get 
aboard, as the disposition of the 4i tickets ” was solely in 
the charge of a chosen and trustworthy few. 

On this occasion there was really a private excursion 
party on the Siren. The Burglars’ Social Union had 
chartered the boat, paying a round sum for the privilege 
of holding a meeting beyond the prying eyes of the 
police, a part of the agreement being that the gamblers 
might run their games as usual, the members of the B. S. 
U., however, being the only players. It was because of 
the suspicious characters of these gentlemen, that the 
captain had preferred to pick them up in small parties, 
as he slowly worked his way down the river, rather than 
to allow so many “ crooks ” to get aboard from one 
dock, where a stray policeman might recognize too many 
of them. 

When Mr. Mitchel ascended the stairway which led to 
the saloon, and stood for a moment looking about him, 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 


8l 


he was a little surprised at the prospect. The faro and 
roulette games were well patronized, and several games 
of poker were in progress. Yet the quiet, gentlemanly 
behavior of all in the place, made it difficult to believe 
that he was in the presence of the principal criminals 
out of prison. His entrance attracted scarcely any at- 
tention. Two or three turned and looked at him, but 
failing to recognize him, reverted to their games. 

“ Quite a family party, ain’t it ? ” said Slippery Sam, 
in lowered tones. 

“ A most extraordinary group, I should say,” re- 
sponded Mr. Mitchel, “ provided these men are really 
criminals.” 

“Well, we like the word ‘crooks’ better,” said Sam, 
suggestively, “ and if you don’t mind, I ’d rather you ’d 
use it.” 

“ Why certainly, if you desire it,” said Mr. Mitchel. 
“ But what is the difference ? ” 

This seemed to be a poser for Sam, who shifted 
uneasily a moment, searching for a satisfactory reply, 
which finally shaped itself thus : 

“ Well, you see, I ain’t no scholar, so I ain’t good at 
definitions. I ’ve spent so much time in jail, and the 
prison library as a rule is so meagre, that I might say my 
education ’s been neglected. But there ’s a point of dif- 
ference that has weight here to-night, and that I can tell 
you. You see ‘ criminals ’ is what the Judges calls us, 

and ‘ crooks ’ is what we calls ourselves. Are you on ? ” 
6 


82 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Not fully. Make it plainer ?” 

“ Why, don’t you see ? If one of this crowd heard you 
talking about ‘ criminals ’ he ’d twig you in a minute. 
He ’d know you was n’t a ‘crook ’ yourself, and that ’d 
be bad.” 

“Ah ! Yes, of course. Evidently the less I have to 
say, the less likely I will be to get into trouble by mak- 
ing mistakes.” 

“Yes, but don’t talk too little neither. If you ’re too 
still, they ’ll be on to you just as quick as if you open 
your trap too wide. But you was askin’ if these men are 
all crooks ? Yes, sir, and a more skilfuller crowd, in 
their way, don’t exist. Now there ’s a man over there by 
the roulette, the chap with the long-tailed coat, and the 
choker. Size him up and what do you make his total ? ” 

“ Do you mean, what position in life would I accord to 
him? Well, that is not an easy problem at any time, 
and. under present circumstances it becomes doubly dif- 
ficult. Yet I must confess that he seems strangely out 
of place here, for do you know, it may make you laugh 
to hear it, but I should take him for a Salvation Army 
man.” 

“ Say, Mister, you ’re a bird, you are. A regular eagle 
for seeing into things. Looks like Salvation Army, does 
he ? Well, that ’s precisely his lay. You ought to hear 
him leadin’ a meeting, and takin’ lambs into the fold. 
Oh, dear, but he ’s saved more souls than we ’ve got 
fingers and toes. But then, for all that, he ’s got another 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 83 

business on the side. Give a guess at that ? What 
would you say was his regular profession now ? How 
does he live ? ” 

“ Judging by his earnestness at present, he might be a 
card sharp,” ventured Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Sharp ? You ’re right enough when you speak that 
word. But not cards ! No, sir ! He never touches ’em. 
He ’s just amusin’ himself at that wh^el, but he ’ll leave 
it pretty soon. * No, sir ! He ’s a fence, and the best 
known in the city^and never been even suspected by the 
police, much less arrested. Oh, yes ! He ’s sharp. 
Well, I guess.” 

In this strain Sam rambled on, pointing out the vari- 
ous prominent criminals in the apartment, and giving 
graphic details of their careers, so that Mr. Mitchel was 
enjoying himself hugely, and at the same time obtaining 
quite an insight into the habits of a class which had 
always interested him, to wit the uncaptured criminals.- 
Surely, among these, were those with the greater share of 
brains ? 

But the more he saw and heard of the men around 
him, the more impatient he grew to see Preacher Jim, 
the man who had announced that he would lecture to 
criminals, upon crime. 

The Siren had passed far beyond the lights of the 
city, and Coney Island’s thousands of electric lamps 
made but a bright streak on the horizon, when at last 
there was a movement which promised the fulfilment of 


8 4 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


his desire. The card tables were taken away by attend- 
ants, who seemed to have been drilled to the task, so 
rapidly did they accomplish it. Camp stools were 
arranged in rows, and the company found places facing 
one table which had been left at the farther end of the 
saloon. 

In the inevitable confusion attendant upon this 
scramble for seats, orderly though it was, Mr. Mitchel 
was separated from Sam for a moment. Just then some- 
one whispered near his ear : 

“ If you should need help I ’ll be on hand.” 

Mr. Mitchel turned swiftly but could not be sure of 
the identity of the speaker. The person nearest to him 
was one of the waiters, hurrying by with a tray full of 
empty glasses, while at a little distance back was a man 
who appeared to be watching him intently. Either of 
these might have spoken the whispered words, but 
which ? Mr. Mitchel reasoned that it must be this one 
who was still eying him closely, yet he could not dis- 
miss the idea that the voice though disguised was famil- 
iar to his ear. 

“ I wonder if Mr. Barnes is aboard,” he thought, and 
this suspicion for a few moments occupied him so 
thoroughly, that he forgot about the other man, until 
aroused by Sam who had regained his side, bringing 
two choice stools, with backs to them. 

“ There he is,” said that worthy, with suppressed 
excitement. 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 85 

“ There is who ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“Why Preacher Jim, of course,” said Sam. “See! 
He ’s takin’ his place behind the table. He ’s goin’ to 
begin at once. Listen ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel looked towards the opposite end of the 
room, and in Preacher Jim he recognized the man who 
had been watching him but a few moments before. Had 
he uttered the mysterious message ? ‘ 

A hush fell over the company as the man stood behind 
the table, ?nd gazed about him for several minutes in 
silence, affording Mr. Mitchel an excellent opportunity 
to scrutinize the general appearance. Here was one 
who might have baffled those students who have 
formulated a physical “ type ” of criminals. He w r as a 
type of nothing, unless of perfect manhood. Of me- 
dium stature his symmetrical frame seemed fashioned 
in the mould which would yield the greatest strength 
and endurance. A finely formed head, with great 
brain room, marvellously well balanced between his 
powerful shoulders, assured you of his masterful will 
power. No wonder that before such a man as this, 
all the other crooks stood in awed admiration. Their 
silence, and their attitudes of eager attention, were a 
tacit admission of the fact that they were in the pres- 
ence of recognized superiority. They bowed before 
their master. 

“ Has this man ever been in prison ? ” inquired Mr. 
Mitchel in a whisper. 


86 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ In prison ? They ’d have to catch him first, would n’t 
they ? ” was Sam’s scornful reply. 

But now Preacher Jim began to speak. 

“ My friends,” said he, in a mellow voice of singular 
magnetic quality, “ I have the pleasure of addressing 
you once more, after a lapse of many months. I see 
around me the familiar faces of a number of friends, 
but I note others who are unknown to me. By way of 
introduction therefore, I may speak of myself, giving a 
brief sketch of my past history. 

“ I am known to you all as Jim, and because of my 
fondness for speech-making, some call me Preacher Jim. 
Yet preacher though I am, I am not one of the learned 
doctors of divinity, nor have I much in common with 
them, save the earnestness with which I follow the path 
which I have marked out for myself in this life. 

“ I was born about thirty years ago. In this matter, 
from the universal laws of Nature which control us all, I 
was not consulted. I was brought into this world, being 
myself in no way responsible either for my coming, or for 
the manner thereof. As trite and unnecessary a state- 
ment as this may seem to be, it has an important bearing 
upon what I may call my theme for to-night. Being 
born, someone decided that I should be known by the 
name of James, which has been abbreviated into Jim. 
This name was given to me in much the same manner, 
and for the same purpose as a name is given to a dog ; 
that I might come when called, and be distinguished 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 87 

from others of my kind. And so I came to be Jim. 
Other name I have not, because my revered father over- 
looked the formality of marriage with my mother. Later 
he overlooked both my mother and myself, and we were 
left to drift on the tide of humanity, and it is a truth 
which is strange in the presence of the vaunted civiliza- 
tion of this era, that such flotsam will ever be finally 
stranded on the barren shores of damnation. 

“ At the age of five I began to steal, not from neces- 
sity, but from imitation. I lived among thieves, and did 
as they did. At ten I was one of the most skilful pick- 
pockets along the Bowery, and at twelve I was at the 
head of a band of twenty boys, any one of whom was a 
past master in the art of breaking the eighth command- 
ment. One of these, emboldened by success, attempted 
an operation beyond his power of accomplishment, and 
was detected in the act. He fled, and was followed. 
With a lack of comradeship, for which he has since been 
punished, he ran into my place, and depositing some of 
his plunder under my bed, succeeded in evading the 
officer who had followed him in. I was awakened from 
what the policeman declared was a sham sleep, and 
taken to the station-house, whence in due time I was 
sent to a reformatory. 

“ There I remained until I was of age, and during 
those seven years, I received a double education. From 
the good and pious preacher who officiated in the 
chapel, I first suspected the value of knowledge, and 


88 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


then obtained the books from which to acquire it. 
Being my own teacher to a great extent, and interested 
in my pupil, I absorbed knowledge as a sponge does 
water. But on the other hand, from the vast variety of 
delinquents who were sent to the institution from time 
to time, I also learned the true meaning of the words 
vice and crime. 

“ I entered the reformatory a little thief, whose main 
object in stealing had been mischief. I left the place a 
professional crook endowed with such knowledge as 
made me self-reliant. I felt myself equipped for the 
battle with the world to such a degree, that I was ready 
to attack it, rather than wait and defend myself, and I 
was eager for the fray. 

“ Nine years have passed, and I have lived, if not 
above suspicion at least beyond conviction. I have 
never been in prison, and I never expect to be. Yet I 
am a professional criminal. 

“ Having given you this short sketch of myself, I pass 
to the consideration of the criminal in general. My 
friends, we call ourselves 1 crooks/ and the world calls 
us criminals. As crooks we understand and sympathize 
with one another. As criminals, does the world under- 
stand or sympathize with us? Does the Christian, with 
his creed, * Love thine enemies,’ love us? Yet are we 
not counted as the enemies of Society ? 

° Let us consider for a moment the true relation 
between the criminal and Society at large. There seems 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 89 

to be but one doctrine of salvation for the delinquent, 
and that is punishment. Granting that this theory is a 
correct one, is it justly practised? We find that for a 
given offense there is a specified number of years in 
prison, set down as the proper punishment. Are all 
men who commit this crime equally amenable to pun- 
ishment, that all should be treated with equal severity ? 
Are all of these guilty persons equally responsible for 
their acts ? Have all had the same heritage, the same 
environment, the same examples of conduct, and the 
same opportunities for living without resorting to crime ? 
The answer is so evident that it is amazing that civiliza- 
tion should tolerate such blindness in the Goddess of 
Justice,” 

He paused a moment, having delivered the final sen- 
tences with such earnest and intense force, that his 
audience was carried away by his eloquence and ap- 
plauded rapturously. Mr. Mitchel was astounded to 
find a man of this mental calibre, openly admitting that 
he lived a life of crime. He was more interested than 
he had ever before been in any man, and was impatient 
to hear more. 

“ My friends, Society has made one egregious, irre- 
parable blunder. And it has fallen into this error from 
sheer selfishness. The mistake lies in this ; the criminal 
has been measured by the standards applicable to normal 
men, whereas crime ever has been and ever will be, the 
result of abnormal development, or of physical and 


90 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


psychical degeneration. To use a trite simile, ‘ crime is 
a disease/ and as in other diseases the sufferer is person- 
ally responsible for his condition in only a small propor- 
tion of cases. 

“ How differently does Society treat physical and 
moral disease? For the afflicted of the first class we 
have colleges, physicians, nurseries, sanatariums, hos- 
pitals, and lazarettos. For the latter we have lawyers, 
juries, judges, prisons, stripes, and hanging. 

“ In the worst stages of physical disease, the individ- 
ual becomes a menace and a danger to the community. 
With perfect, but nevertheless selfish justice, the afflicted 
one is seized and incarcerated in a lazaretto. Such a 
fate is sad enough, and bad enough, yet it is vastly dif- 
ferent from the extreme example of the morally diseased. 
He endangers the life, or takes the life, of one of the 
community, and his life is taken in payment. Thus 
Society as a whole, commits the very act for which it 
dooms the poor wretch. If it be argued that Society 
kills, but does not murder, the contention is easily shown 
to be sophistry. For if a man should kill a convicted 
and condemned murderer, thus committing the act which 
Society has elected itself to commit, such a man would 
still be adjudged guilty of murder. Yet if all the facts 
were considered, including the most important one that 
all morally diseased are also physically imperfect, and 
that the two afflictions are interdependent, the world 
would be aroused to the recognition of its great error, 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 91 

and Society would be compelled to admit that it should 
no more slay the moral than the physical leper. The 
day will, the day must come, when crime, like disease, 
will be treated curatively, rather than punitively. But 
that day is not yet, and we live in the present, and must 
meet conditions as they are. How then shall we crimi- 
nals, we ‘ crooks ’ fashion our lives ? 

“I have pointed out to you the great error made by 
Society, but, my friends, we ourselves have fallen into 
the same mistake, and it is of more importance to us 
than to Society. We also overlook the fact that our 
criminal propensities are born- and bred in us ; that we 
are not solely responsible for what we are; that we 
are morally, and oftimes physically diseased, and that 
we are congenitally so. Yet such is our deplorable con- 
dition. Moreover, no helping hand is outstretched 
towards us. The hand that beckons holds a scourge, 
and the index finger points the way to prison. The 
world will not help us. We must help ourselves. How ? 

“ Why not by co-operation, as in this Society ? Thus 
we erect a community in sympathy with our position 
and condition, and by learning to live in true harmony 
with all the members of this smaller, diseased com- 
munity, we cannot but progress, in ourselves, and in our 
progeny, towards a right to claim a place in that wider 
world, which holds us now as enemies ; enemies without 
claim on Christian love. 

“ In physical disease, the most important step towards 


92 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


cure has been made when the presence of the disturb- 
ance is recognized, and correctly diagnosticated. So 
it must be with crime. Once the individual ‘ crook ’ 
realizes his true condition, and the danger he is in be- 
cause of the unequal warfare which he wages with the 
world, then, surely, he is better armed for the fray. 

“ To make an end of my preaching then, I will advise 
the individual, as I have advised the whole Society 
present. Let each man, as I have done, study out his 
own heritage. Let him analyze his birth and birthright, 
and weigh the necessity of his leading a criminal life. 
Some will find the heritage so slight, that it will be not 
difficult to effect a cure in themselves, and to live 
honestly. These owe it to themselves, to Society at 
large, but more particularly to their children, to strive 
towards that end. 

“ The other extreme will be the man whose heritage 
and whose youthful associations have been such, that 
crime is inevitable. He is the moral leper. Let him 
remember that not the lazaretto, but the hangman will 
be his fate, if Society should discover his condition. 

“ There is a law, however, that every man has the in- 
herent right of self-preservation. The rule applies to 
the moral leper as well as to the spotless virgin. The 
right being his, let him obtain the means. Let him first 
acquire knowledge ; the wisdom of the world ; the 
learning of books ; and above all, the knowledge of him- 
self. Let him beware how he commits a crime. If he 


THE ETHICS OF HONEST THIEVERY. 


93 


must defy the law, and it will he inevitable that he must, 
let him plot and plan, be patient and cautious, cunning 
and wary, so that having yielded to the impulse of crime 
when he can no longer resist, he may yet defy detection 
and that punishment which blind Justice will mete out 
to him. Let him, in short, live as I live ; a criminal by 
force of heritage and diseased moral centres ; a born 
criminal ; yet committing crime so seldom, so carefully, 
and so cunningly, that he may escape not alone punish- 
ment, but even suspicion. Above all things, let him 
obey the one greatest duty of his being. Let him not 
become the father of other criminals. Let his vice die 
with him. And may God pity such men, as men do 
not.” 

He ceased, and there was profound silence. There 
was no applause, yet it was evident that those present 
were much moved. They wore thoughtful countenances, 
and seemed oblivious of their companions, as though 
all were preoccupied with introspective speculations. 

Mr. Mitchel himself was deeply stirred. He had 
never met, nor heard of, such a man as this. A born 
criminal, he called himself, yet from all outward appear- 
ances a man of culture and refinement. He was a para- 
dox. If he was truly the terrible criminal that he 
described himself to be, how wonderfully well he had 
benefited by the advice he had just given to others. 
He had truly acquired knowledge of the world and of 
himself, and in his great battle with the world he had 


94 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


armed himself with the best weapons with which to 
defend himself against suspicion. 

Yet, if a criminal, guilty of crimes yet unsuspected, 
what a problem to discover in w r hat he had offended. 
On the other hand, if his pretense of criminality was 
merely assumed ; if his association with the prison 
chaplain had made him in some sort a fanatical crank, 
who preached for the love of preaching, and went among 
criminals because it pleased his fancy to fool them into 
believing him to be one of themselves, then how skilfully 
he played his part, and how well he deluded these men, 
all of whom undoubtedly would have scoffed at the idea 
that any man could dupe them. 

From either point of view, Mr. Mitchel thought that 
Preacher Jim would be a most interesting study, when 
he noticed that the man was apparently coming towards 
himself. He was very much astonished, however, when 
presently Preacher Jim stood before him, and, extending 
his hand cordially, remarked quietly : 

“Well, Mr. Mitchel, how did you enjoy the lecture ? ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 

M R. MITCHEL quickly decided that it would be 
absurd to attempt to deny his identity. This 
was no ordinary man, and he had called him by 
his proper name with a confidence born of certainty. 
He thought it best even to conceal his surprise, and 
therefore, as though conversing with an old acquaint- 
ance, he answered quietly : 

“ I cannot recall ever having enjoyed a lecture so 
much. You have a wonderful grasp of your subject, 
and marked ability in presenting it intelligibly. Indeed, 
I am in your debt.” 

Mr. Mitchel was a man of great self-control, and had 
that mastery of manner which made it possible for him 
entirely to subdue his emotions, and to conceal his 
thoughts when he so desired. It was therefore Preacher 
Jim who was now astonished, and he did not hide his 
feelings so well. He had prepared his little coup, with 
much anticipatory satisfaction. He had hoped to see 
Mr. Mitchel start in alarm on learning that his identity 
was known ; alarm that it should be known among such 
company, and in such a place. He was therefore 

95 


9 6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


piqued at the nonchalant reply, and, for a moment, lost 
his own customary self-possession. 

“ You do not seem surprised at my knowing you ! ” he 
exclaimed irritably, and in almost a threatening tone. 

“ I meet so many people, and am so very poor at 
recalling faces,” said Mr. Mitchel suavely, “ that when 
one addresses me by name I take it as a matter of course 
that we have met before, even though the fact may have 
escaped my own memory. And this has happened to me 
so many times that it seldom surprises me.” 

“ But we have never met before,” said Preacher Jim, 
still in ominous tones. 

“ Indeed ? ” 

“ Indeed ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel made no further remark, but merely gazed 
intently into his companion’s face, and awaited his next 
words. The criminal, finding himself thus compelled to 
speak again, paused, reflecting how to proceed. Thus, 
during a few critical moments, the two men stood face 
to face in silence. 

It was possible for this man to turn to his friends and 
announce that a spy was among them, and Mr. Mitchel’s 
career of usefulness might thus be ended. He appreci- 
ated fully the danger of his position, but he was one of 
those men who are calmest in such supreme crises, and 
it was this entire absence of fear which must have ap- 
pealed to the other man, himself afraid of nothing living. 
Presently, with an altered accent which showed that all 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 9 7 

antagonism had been laid aside for the time being, 
Preacher Jim extended his hand and said : 

“ Mr. Mitchel, I am pleased to make your acquaint- 
ance, and glad that you have come here to-night.” 

Mr. Mitchel took the proffered hand and shook it 
cordially as he replied : 

“ I am equally pleased to know you, and to be here.” 

“ I wish to talk with you. Will you come with me, 
where we will not be disturbed, and have a chat and a 
cigar ? ” 

Preacher Jim led the way, and Mr. Mitchel followed, 
until they entered a small private cabin, in which was a 
table and a few chairs. The two men sat opposite each 
other, and the criminal summoned a waiter and ordered 
a bottle of wine. Then he began by saying : 

“ Mr. Mitchel, in spite of your well feigned calmness, 
confess that you did not expect me to call you by your 
name ? ” 

“ I certainly was astonished, but you will admit that it 
would not have been wise to allow you to see that too 
plainly.” 

“ It would have been very unwise. I was in a bad 
humor, and there are times, as you may judge by my 
lecture, when I might commit acts not strictly in accord 
with the laws of our country.” 

“ You mean that you might have done me an injury ? 
I realized that, and acted in the manner which seemed 
best calculated to prevent any trouble.” 


9 8 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Again I say you are a wise man ; you are more than 
that ; you are a brave one, for only courage could have 
carried you safely through. Now that my anger has 
passed, I am harmless, I assure you.” 

“ Perhaps then you would be willing to enlighten me 
as to how you chanced to know my name ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel, quick to read character, thought that he 
had detected a large share of vanity in this man, and he 
hoped to molify him further by affording him an oppor- 
tunity to boast a little. In this he was entirely success- 
ful, for the reply came with a touch of eagerness. 

“ Ah ! ” said Preacher Jim, “ you should have thought 
twice before trying to steal a march on me. Do you 
suppose that I could have evaded the law officers, and 
the laws, as successfully as I have, if the two eyes in my 
head were both half blind, as in the case of ninety per 
cent of men ? No, sir. I have hundreds of eyes keep- 
ing watch. I knew that you were coming here to-night, 
long before you came, and had I chosen to prevent it, 
you could never have boarded this boat. But I con- 
sidered the matter and decided to allow you to hear my 
lecture.” 

“ Again I find that I am in your debt ! ” 

“But you wish to learn how I knew this. To explain 
thoroughly I must tell you something more of our organ- 
ization. We ‘brooks,’ as the boys call themselves, are 
banded together for mutual protection. We are at 
eternal warfare with the police force. We are constantly 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 99 

spied upon by detectives. So much of course you know. 
We have therefore arranged a more or less perfect sys- 
tem of defense. When one of our members sees a de- 
tective, it becomes his business to spy upon that spy, and 
report to officers of our society. In this way we often 
obtain valuable information, which frequently makes it 
possible for us to aid in the escape of the special prey 
for which the detective might be searching. Now you 
will remember that when you were talking with Slippery 
Sam this morning, that cunning young man recognized 
a detective and led you off in another direction. Very 
good ! But it so chanced that another of our members 
was in the neighborhood, and he also saw the detective, 
and at once began to shadow him. Can you guess what 
business called that detective into the neighborhood of 
Apollo Hall this morning ? ” 

“ No ! ” 

“Yet he is employed by your friend Mr. Barnes.” 
Preacher Jim chuckled as Mr. Mitchel this time mani- 
fested his surprise, when by way of response he asked 
quickly : 

“ Do you mean that Mr. Barnes set a spy upon me ? ” 
“ Just so ! Friendly, was n’t it ? ” 

“ But with what object ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel felt assured that he could answer his 
own question, but he wished to learn how much this 
man knew, or suspected. His object was not attained, 
for the answer was : 


100 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Ah ! That ’s no affair of mine. You are not one of 
our members and therefore our man would not have 
pursued the matter further, had you not been in com- 
pany with Slippery Sam.” 

“ And why because of that fact ? ” 

“ It is always important to know whether there be 
amongst us any who would betray a friend for ready 
cash. You comprehend ? So in this instance, Mr. 
Barnes’s man, who is a clever fellow, seeing that Slippery 
Sam had suspicions, kept in the background until you 
were around the corner, and then he began to shadow 
you most scientifically. But our man is skilful also, and 
he easily kept the whole party in sight, until you parted 
with Sam. Then he tracked you to your home and 
obtained much information about you, all of which in 
due time reached me. It was not difficult to discover 
that Sam meant to bring you with him, and so we were 
forewarned.” 

“ You do not mean that you could get that informa- 
tion from Sam himself ? He seems too shrewd.” 

“ He is sharp, but our system was too much for him. 
It was very easy, as you will perceive. He could not 
bring you with him without obtaining a pass for two. In 
applying for it, he was obliged to give a full account of 
the person whom he wished to introduce. He did so, 
and with the information which we already had, it was 
not difficult to take the true measurement of his imagin- 
ary ‘ crook,’ who worked at ‘ engraving bank-notes ’ and 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 


IOI 


who * did not desire any new acquaintances.’ It was 
really quite amusing to hear him expatiating upon the 
wonderful talents of his new-found friend, who was 
‘ staking him for the present.’ ” 

Preacher Jim imitated Slippery Sam so well that Mr. 
Mitchel laughed heartily. Then he asked : 

“ But why did you allow me to come on board ? ” 

“ I will tell you candidly. I had as much curiosity to 
learn your object in coming amongst us, as you possibly 
had, in seeing me and my friends. Why did you come ? ” 
“ I will be equally frank with you. I had no special 
object. The proposal was made by Sam, and it seemed 
to be attractive. I therefore accepted. I have always 
taken an interest in the so-called criminal class, and 
would not miss the chance of seeing them, when free 
from restraint.” 

“ Then you came merely as one goes to the Park to 
see the wild animals ? ” 

“ With absolutely no other definite purpose.” 

There was a pause, during which it was evident to 
Mr. Mitchel, that his companion was still somewhat in 
doubt as to the wisdom of trusting him, and of this he 
was assured by the next question, which was asked sud- 
denly, that he might be taken off his guard, or at least 
have no chance for preparing an untruthful reply. 

“ Why was that detective spying upon you ? ” asked 
Preacher Jim. Mr. Mitchel realized that it would be 
necessary to answer unhesitatingly, but he was accus- 


102 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


tomed to determine upon a line of conduct quickly, and 
now he decided upon a bold and possibly hazardous 
course. 

“I have no objection to telling you what I think of 
that,” said he, “ though of course I may be wrong. Mr. 
Barnes is working upon a mysterious case, and has asked 
me to assist him. He values my assistance in an investi- 
gation, but at the same time he dislikes to admit that I 
could accomplish what would baffle him. I imagine that 
in this instance he has sent a man after me that I may 
not make discoveries which would be unknown to him. 
Thus he would hope to keep pace with me in any ad- 
vance that I might make.” 

“ If he is as clever a detective as his reputation de- 
clares him to be, he should be above such methods. 
Were I a detective I would use my brains, and not rely 
upon this petty system of spies.” 

This was even better than Mr. Mitchel had hoped for, 
and he hastened now to lead the conversation into the 
channel which he had chosen to enter. 

“ I concur with you heartily, and I think your opinion 
upon a crime would be most interesting. I wonder if I 
would be going too far were I to ask you to discuss the 
one in question ? ” 

“ You may do so if you wish. It will depend upon 
what crime it is, and how much I may really know about 
it, whether I would care to talk it over with you. You 
must not forget that I am a crook, and that I am ac- 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 103 

quainted with the greatest criminals in this country. 
Any one of my friends might be the guilty man in this 
instance. Indeed, I might be the criminal myself.” 

“ Even in a case of murder ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, 
quickly, eying his companion closely. 

“ Why not ? ” was the calm reply. “ It is natural for 
you to suppose that the degree of the crime matters, but 
with the born criminal, such as I am, there are no de- 
grees, no limits except those created by the exigencies 
of circumstances. For example, I might decide to steal 
a pocket handkerchief, and a chain of events might 
ensue which would lead to the necessity of killing a 
man. That would not, nay could not, make me pause. 
It would be jifst as natural, and just as unavoidable with 
my heritage and character, as that one congenitally 
phthisical should take a slight cold which would lead to 
a cough, and thence to consumption and possibly to 
death. You see even the final event, death, is the same 
in each.” 

Mr. Mitchel had asked his question hoping to see this 
man show some sign of emotion, which would indicate 
whether or not one of his secret and unsuspected crimes, 
might be the killing of a fellow being ; for already he 
had grown so interested in this criminal that the discov- 
ery of one of his unlawful acts would seem of more con- 
sequence, than the unravelling of the Mora murder. 
Now he found that the man was so deeply in earnest in 
his theories of crime, that he could not be surprised into 


104 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


showing any emotions which would inculpate himself. 
Nevertheless, he still thought that the conversation could 
be continued to advantage along the lines which he was 
following, and so proceeded : 

“ Of course I have no wish to induce you to betray 
either your friends or yourself ; and it is scarcely possi- 
ble that you have any connection with the Mora murder, 
which is the case in which I am interested.” 

“ Ah, yes ! You mean the rich man, who was killed 
with one of his own weapons ? I have not the slightest 
objection to giving you my views on that subject. Ask 
me what you please.” 

“ I hardly know where to begin. It just occurred to 
me that it is a crime the details of which had been skil- 
fully managed, and that as you are not only a criminal, 
for which assertion I have only your own authority, but 
also a student of criminology, your opinion would be 
interesting to me. Therefore I ventured to ask for it. 
You might tell me, to begin with, whether you would 
look for the murderer among the so-called criminal 
class, or elsewhere ?” 

“ Ah, but you forget, that even though the man who 
has done this has never before been detected in crime, 
this act places him at once among what you term the 
criminal class. You could not seek a murderer else- 
where.” 

“ You seem to be evading my question,” said Mr. 
Mitchel boldly. “ I will put it more plainly. Would 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 


105 


you look for a man who has been guilty of other crimes ; 
or would you say that this is an initial crime, the act of 
a man who has never sinned before ? ” 

“Unquestionably the guilty man was far from inno- 
cent of other crimes. It was deliberately planned, and 
studiously executed. Only a murder committed in the 
heat of passion, could be a first offense. A premeditated 
killing proves the guilty party to be a regular criminal, 
though of course it does not follow that he has been 
previously recognized as such.” 

“ Then you do not believe that the son is guilty ? ” 
asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ What I believe on that score must have little weight, 
because I do not know the accused. He is not known to 
be a criminal, therefore the presumption is in his favor. 
If he has never committed a crime before I would stake 
my life on his innocence. But if he has, then it is possi- 
ble that he is the man. I only say it is possible.” 

“ There seem to be many facts which point to his 
guilt. For example, the weapon used was part of a col- 
lection owned by the deceased. The son of course knew 
where to obtain it.” 

“ That would be very poor evidence upon which to 
hang a man. What need had the murderer to know 
where the bludgeon was usually kept, since the old man 
had taken it to bed with him ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel started at hearing this. The words gave 
him a new and important idea. He remembered Mr. 


io6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Barnes’s argument that the murdered man had not taken 
the weapon from the cabinet himself, as the door was 
found open. Preacher Jim advanced just the contrary 
view, and Mr. Mitchel determined to probe deeper, in 
order to learn his reasons for his opinion. 

“ Ah, of course,” said he, with no outward exhibition 
of the increased interest which he felt. “ If Mr. Mora 
took the weapon upstairs any man might have found and 
used it. But the old man was very methodical, and I 
am assured that if he had done as you suggest, he would 
again have locked the cabinet door, which, on the con- 
trary, was found open in the morning, as though the 
weapon had been abstracted hurriedly, by someone 
laboring under excitement. Does not this conflict with 
your idea ? ” 

“Why, not at all. You are probably repeating to me 
one of the arguments of your friend Mr. Barnes, which 
only shows how detectives always work to substantiate 
a theory, instead of allowing an investigation to lead 
where it will. Of course it is all guess-work, about the 
movements of the man who was killed. But my solution 
of the mystery is, that he expected trouble that night, 
and in that case, anticipating the approach of an enemy, 
he would have been sufficiently disturbed to have forgot- 
ten to lock the door of the cabinet again.” 

“ I could readily agree with that, if I could see any 
reason for thinking that he was expecting a disagreeable 
visitor. What evidence have you of that ?” 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 107 

“ Oh, very good, I think. In one of the newspaper 
accounts I read that the watchman, in his statement said 
that he saw young Mora enter the house, because he had 
been warned by his master to be doubly watchful. In 
fact, he had asked permission to take the night for him- 
self, sending a substitute in his place, but his request was 
refused ; and then it was that he was cautioned to be 
doubly on his guard.” 

“ That is very significant, and quite new to me. I 
wonder that Mr. Barnes omitted it from his report of 
the facts.” 

“ Oh, you can’t expect a detective to think of every 
thing you know.” 

Here Preacher Jim laughed heartily, while Mr. 
Mitchel eyed him thoughtfully, wondering at his appar- 
ent unconcern, and his seemingly genuine good-humor. 
The man’s manner did not agree with a half-formulated 
idea which Mr. Mitchel was mentally considering, and 
therefore he carefully selected his words in continuing 
the conversation. 

“ Then if this watchman was so wide awake,” said Mr. 
Mitchel, “surely it must count against young Mora, 
when he swears that he saw him enter and leave the 
house at about the time of the murder ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! The watchman only swears that a plaid 
suit of clothes went in and came out again. From that 
he concludes that he saw young Mora, but he might be 
mistaken.” 


io8 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“Oh, then you do not accept Mora’s theory that the 
murderer put on the plaid suit in the house, after com- 
mitting the crime ? ” 

“ No, I do not. None but stupid officials would have 
accepted that trumped-up story. Why, how can you say 
that the watchman was correct in identifying the cloth- 
ing of the man when he came out of the house, and dis- 
miss his equally positive assertion as to what he saw 
going in ? Mark my word, the watchman is both truth- 
ful and accurate. That plaid suit went in, and came out 
again.” 

“ And the man who wore it killed old man Mora ? ” 

“ Beyond all question of doubt.” 

“ Then the discovery of that suit of clothes, should be 
the first care of the police.” 

“ It should, but the police will never find it. Some- 
one else may, and probably will. Do not forget that the 
police are often credited with more than they deserve. 
The publication of all the facts, places all people on the 
scent. The guilty party is somewhere, and necessarily 
comes into contact with persons, any one of whom may 
read his fear in his face, and report it to the police. So 
those clothes are hidden, and at any moment they may 
reach the Central Office, because someone finds them, 
and thinks it is his duty to take them to headquarters. 
After that, it ought to be plain sailing.” 

“Why should not the murderer have burned the cloth- 
ing ? Or at least have destroyed them in some way ?” 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. IO9 

“ Perhaps he has, but it is often risky. The smell of 
burnt cloth will rouse a whole tenement-house full of 
people. Ashes found, may excite suspicion, perhaps 
more so than the clothing itself, especially if the murderer 
was disguised. On the whole, and judging by what I 
should have done myself, I conclude that the plaid suit 
is still in existence. Another man though might act dif- 
ferently. When theorizing about human actions we are 
all apt to measure them by our personal standards.” 

“ And you say that if you had killed Mr. Mora, hav- 
ing worn these clothes as a disguise, you would not have 
destroyed them afterwards ? ” 

“ I think not. Of course circumstances alter cases, 
and it might be that having actually killed the man, my 
views would be altered. It is so easy to theorize, eh, 
Mr. Mitchel ? ” 

“Yes, yes! You are right,” said Mr. Mitchel, ab- 
stractedly, and then he paused a moment, presently con- 
tinuing : “ There is another point which tells against 

young Mora. The theft of the will. It makes him nine 
millions richer, and would be valueless to any other man.” 

“ Would it ? ” asked Preacher Jim. 

Something in his intonation attracted Mr. Mitchel, 
and he quickly asked : 

“ Can you imagine any use another man might make 
of it ? ” 

“ I can.” 

fi Will you tell me?" 


I IO 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Mr. Mitchel, if I refuse, you might be insane enough 
to think that I know more than I care to disclose. That 
I am endeavoring to shield someone, and you might 
even get it into your head that that person is myself. 
Therefore I will reply to your question, although I think 
it should not have been asked. It compels me to show 
you how much more useful property is to the criminal, 
than to the rest of the world.” 

“ Oh, pardon me. It was understood that I should 
not insist upon going any further than you choose. You 
need not answer, if you prefer not.” 

“ No ! I can understand that it would interest you to 
hear my opinion, and I will give it. This will leaves half 
of the fortune to charity. By its suppression the son 
inherits all. Now, let us imagine that an enterprising 
crook, with a long head, conceives the plan of stealing 
the will and of killing Mr. Mora, so that the will should 
acquire immediate value. Can’t you see now how that 
document might be useful to the thief ? ” 

“ I would prefer not to guess, but to have you tell 
me.” 

“Very good. Young Mora inherits. Then the crook 
turns up some fine night with a copy of the will, which 
he might claim to have found in an ash-barrel. He 
might ask what Mr. Mora would give for the continued 
suppression of the will ? How much per year, let us say. 
Would it not be fair, in exchange for the nine millions, 
for the heir to pay over to the crook at least the annual 


SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF. 1 1 I 

interest ? At even one per cent that would be $90,000. 
Don’t you think that a document which would yield that 
sum per year would be worth the stealing ? ” 

“ By heavens, you are right. But it would require a 
man of brains and courage to concoct and carry out 
such a scheme.” 

“ There are several such men on this boat.” 

“ You mean that the murderer of Mr. Mora may be on 
this boat ? ” 

“ He may be, of course. Stranger things have hap- 
pened, one of which is your own presence here, as well as 
that of the man who promised to help you if you should 
need aid.” 

“ Ah ! You heard that ? ” 

“ I did ! ” 

“ Then perhaps you recognized the man ? ” 

“ I did ! ” 

“ Who was he ? ” 

“ I think you must excuse my not answering you this 
time. I prefer to let you discover for yourself. I never 
spoil sport.” 

“ Oh, very well ! As you will ! And now, since you 
have been so kind as to discuss one crime with me, 
there is another, in which I am even more deeply inter- 
ested. Perhaps you might express your views upon 
that.” 

“ Again I say it depends upon what crime it is, and 
how much I may know.” 


1 12 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

“ I am alluding to the child who was found in the 
graveyard.” 

“ Yes ! What of that ? ” 

“ I believe that I have obtained a clue which will 
unravel that mystery. I think I shall soon know who the 
child’s mother is, though it was not she who placed the 
infant in the cemetery.” 

“ You are sure of that ? ” 

“Yes ! It was a man, and probably the father. Now 
I would like to ask you ” 

“ You must excuse me. I prefer not to discuss it. In 
fact, I have talked with you too much already. Good 
night.” 

With this abrupt speech, Preacher Jim suddenly left 
the room. Mr. Mitchel looked after him a moment, 
with a smile of satisfaction, and then went on deck 
whistling softly. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 

M R. MITCHEL reached his home that night in 
safety, his presence on the boat having appar- 
ently escaped the notice of any of the crooks. 
On the following morning, precisely at the hour ap- 
pointed, Mr. Barnes was announced, and ushered in. 

“ Ah ! Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” said Mr. Mit- 
chel. “ I hope you have not overworked yourself on 
this case of yours. Feeling well this morning ? ” 

“ Quite well, I thank you,” was the rejoinder. “ Why 
do you ask ? ” 

“ Oh, I did not know but that you had been up all 
night watching somebody. Mr. Barnes, I have often 
admired the patience of detectives, when I have read of 
one of them sitting all night watching a doorway, through 
which he had seen a criminal pass. The fact that the 
criminal seldom comes out again, does not seem to deter 
him at all. He watches on, and hopes for the best. 
Some day a criminal may come back and be caught. 
Who knows ? That sort of thing always makes me think 
of our cat. Remus is his name, and he is truly a won- 
derful fellow, in many ways. Only, he has that inevi- 
8 113 


I 14 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

table failing of his kind. He must watch something. I 
suppose he feels it a sort of duty in repayment for his 
food and lodging. The first night on which he came to 
us, he caught a mouse, and while he was playing with it, 
the little creature escaped and ran into my wife’s slipper, 
from which hiding-place master Remus soon dislodged 
him. But do you know, whenever that cat sees that slip- 
per lying about, he sits down and watches it. It is 
really very amusing. Come up some night when my 
wife is at home, and I will have Remus go through his 
performance for you. It might prove a useful object 
lesson.” 

“ I have listened patiently to your chaffing, Mr. Mit- 
chel,” said Mr. Barnes, with becoming dignity, “ and I 
should be pleased to have you tell me why you have 
spoken thus. What have I done to deserve it ? ” 

“You had me spied upon ! ” answered Mr. Mitchel, 
sharply. 

“ You are mistaken,” said Mr. Barnes, quietly. 

“ Do you mean to deny that one of your men followed 
me about yesterday ? ” 

“ No ! But it was not at my instigation.” 

“ Then why was it done ? ” 

“ He knew you, and seeing you in the company of one 
of the shrewdest bunco men in town, he thought it best 
to keep you both in sight.” 

“ Dear me ! So your man thought that Leroy Mitchel 
is not capable of protecting himself in New York City ! 


THE PLAID SUIT OP CLOTHES. 1 1 5 

We will let that pass then. But now tell me why you 
followed me personally last night ? ” 

“ How do you knoV that I did ? ” 

“ That is not answering my question.” 

“ Well, Mr. Mitchel, while I certainly think you 
capable of taking care of yourself, from what my man 
told me, I concluded that you meant to accompany 
Slippery Sam on last night’s excursion. '■ Not having the 
same confidence in that person which you seemed to 
have, I thought that, as your friend, it was my duty to be 
on hand in case of trouble. But I was not spying upon 
you.” 

“ So you even went so far as to disguise yourself as a 
waiter, and serve beer to a lot of crooks, just to be near 
me ? I am truly indebted to you. But I do not admire 
this masquerading. It is too theatrical. It savors too 
much of the dime-novel detective. And I suppose, of 
course, you had to bribe one of the regular waiters, who 
allowed you to take his place, eh ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” said Mr. Barnes, hesitatingly, some- 
what abashed by the criticism upon his methods, “but, 
Mr. Mitchel, we cannot always choose. I have known of 
the uses to which this boat has been put all summer, 
and I realized that it would be wise, and might become 
of extreme importance to me to have it in my power to 
be on board at any time. I therefore arranged matters 
with the head-waiter, and have played waiter on that boat 
so often that now my presence attracts no suspicion.” 


II 6 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

“ That is just the conceit common to all of your pro- 
fession. Your disguises are never penetrated. You are 
like the ostrich with his head in the sand, invisible — in 
your own mind. Now the fact is, your identity was very 
well known on the boat last night.” 

“ Indeed ? How do you know that ? ” 

“ The lecturer of the evening was talking to me about 
you. He considers you rather clever, but expressed his 
surprise that you should stoop to such antiquated 
methods as the employment of spies. He says that 
if he were in your place he would use his brains 
instead.” 

“ Then he would accomplish little, for he has no 
brains.” Mr. Barnes spoke angrily, for he had begun to 
lose patience. He thought that Mr. Mitchel went too 
far in his adverse criticisms, and in this perhaps he was 
right. But the truth was, Mr. Mitchel was excessively 
annoyed, not so much because a spy had followed him, 
but because for the first time in his experience he had 
not himself discovered the fact. He had therefore 
given vent to his feelings by resorting to satire. 

Mr. Mitchel had decided that Preacher Jim was 
possessed of quite a superior quality of brains, and con- 
sequently he was attracted by Mr. Barnes’s words, well 
knowing that they were not idly spoken. 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” said he. 

“ The man is a monomaniac,” Mr. Barnes replied. 

“ On what subject ? ” 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 117 

“Oh, on the subject of last night’s lecture. I know 
his history very well, having observed him for many 
years. One of his delusions is that he is himself a great 
criminal. If you could get him to talk with you he 
would undoubtedly lead you to suppose that he has 
committed many crimes, and that through his marvellous 
skill he has not only escaped arrest, but has even avoided 
suspicion.” 

“ But is not this true ? ” 

“True as to his keeping out of the clutches of the 
law, but that has not required any skill. He has com- 
mitted no crimes since he left the Reformatory, and he 
entered that place when a child. The man is not sound 
here,” concluded Mr. Barnes, tapping his forehead sig- 
nificantly. 

“ He does not impress me as being unsound mentally,” 
said Mr. Mitchel, doubtingly. 

“ Very likely not, at a single interview. Perhaps 
indeed you may even have concluded that he is en- 
dowed with unusual intelligence. But suppose that you 
were to meet him again, and that his conversation should 
be substantially the same ? And that at many subse- 
quent interviews with you he should always descant 
upon the same topics, in much the same words ! Such 
has been my experience, and I am satisfied that his 
apparent brilliancy is really lustreless. As I said at first, 
he is a monomaniac.” 

“ Nevertheless, Mr. Barnes, he has proven the fallacy 


1 1 8 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

of one of your favorite theories, with scarcely an effort 
of his feeble brain.” 

“ What theory ? ” 

“ You argued that the theft of the will is good evi- 
dence against young Mora. That the will would be’ 
useful to him, because its suppression would double his 
fortune.” 

“ I did, and my opinion remains unaltered.” 

“Very good. But let me give you Preacher Jim’s 
idea. The idea, let us say, of a practical crook, opposed 
to the theory of a skilful detective. That should be 
interesting, should it not? Well, then, suppose that any 
man, that is any man except the son, knew of this will, 
and first stole the document and then murdered old Mr. 
Mora to make it operative. Now, after this affair blows 
over, and young Mora is in possession of the property, 
including nine millions bequeathed elsewhere, could not 
the possessor of the will draw interest, as it were, upon 
the capital, by presenting this important paper, say 
quarterly, in substantiation of his claim ? ” 

“So that is Preacher Jim’s theory, is it? Well, it is 
precisely the sort of thing that a crazy man would work 
out, but which no sane man would either formulate or 
carry into effect. But considering it for a moment as 
among the possibilities, it is easily demolished. No 
theory is of value which is not substantiated by col- 
lateral circumstances. Now there are no facts to fit the 
supposition of a murderer from without, while the chain 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 119 

of evidence which encircles the son is almost complete. 
But since you have been discussing this case with 
Preacher Jim, perhaps you spoke to him about the 
plaid suit of clothes. What are his views in that direc- 
tion ? ” 

“ There he agrees with you. That is to say, he 
believes that the murderer wore them going in, as well 
as coming out, and that young Mora’s suggestion that 
they were taken from his room to cover the blood- 
stained clothes of the intruder, is untenable.” 

“ Thus you see, he advances contradictory theories, 
which substantiates mine as to his insanity. At one mo- 
ment he thinks an outsider came in, and killed the old 
man to get the will, and use it against the son ; and in 
the next breath he argues that the murderer wore the 
plaid suit, in which case the son must be the guilty 
party. So you see, Mr. Mitchel, I fear you wasted 
your evening, that is, if you went aboard that boat with 
any idea of probing this mystery.” 

“Which, of course, I did not,” interrupted Mr. 
Mitchel. 

“Well, anyway, I have to report that I did not waste 
my day. What would you say, Mr. Mitchel, were I to 
tell you that I have found that plaid suit, and that it is 
at present in my possession ? ” 

“ I should say that you are a very clever man, un- 
less ” 


“ Unless what ? ” 


120 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Unless someone found the things and brought them 
to you. That was a possibility prophesied by Preacher 
Jim.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! But he probably meant the regular 
police. I do not have important clues and evidence 
thrust upon me in that manner. No, I discovered these 
things by the system which you deprecate. By spying.” 

“ This is becoming interesting. Give me the details.” 

“ I am to understand, then, that you will work with 
me on the case ? You asked for twenty-four hours in 
which to consider the matter, but you have not given 
me your decision. You have spent the last half-hour 
chaffing me.” 

“ Oh, I meant no offense ! Surely you have taken 
none? There’s my hand. Yes, I will study out this 
problem with you, but I stipulate for perfect liberty to 
proceed as I please.” 

“Very good ! Then I will relate what has happened 
since we parted. You speak sneeringly of spies, and 
make a plea for the use of brains alone. But it is only 
in fiction that a detective listens to the story of a crime, 
and finds the solution without visiting the locality in 
which it was committed, or seeing the suspected parties. 
In practical experience, the analytical work goes hand 
in hand with what you call the spy system. If sus- 
picious circumstances point to a certain man, we watch 
his movements, and often we very soon discover that he 
is innocent or guilty. Especially when we can spy upon 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 


1 2 1 


him before he knows that he is suspected. With that 
knowledge, of course, the criminal uses more caution. 
To my mind, it was almost a certainty that young Mora 
killed his father. I argued that he was unaware of the 
fact that he had been observed by the watchman until 
he heard it on the following day. He had changed his 
clothing because of the blood spattered upon him, and 
to offset the watchman’s testimony, he denied his first 
visit to the house.” 

“ I follow you. Proceed.” 

“ Think a moment. If a man can make a change of 
clothing, away from his own home in the middle of the 
night, reappearing in garments which are not new, and 
which he is known to have worn before, the logical de- 
duction is that he must have another residence in which 
he is sufficiently at home to keep a part of his wardrobe 
there.” 

“Yes, you are right. Go on.” 

“ Having removed his blood-stained garments, and 
having replaced them with a fresh suit, he would hurry 
home to be the one to discover and report the crime. 
But when he then learns that he had been seen in a suit 
conspicuous because of its pattern, he would naturally 
become anxious about that suit. Fearing that it might 
be found in that closet at his other house, where he had 
hurriedly left it, he would take the first opportunity to 
remove it. Since the murder, young Mora had been 
held to await the result of the inquest. Yesterday he 


122 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


was released, the District Attorney evidently considering 
that to be the wisest course until he can obtain better 
evidence to present To the Grand Jury. Yesterday, 
therefore, the man had his first opportunity to go after 
the clothes. Therefore I watched him. I knew that he 
would be cautious, and so I was compelled to use the 
double spy system. I ordered another man to follow 
him, which he did, until, by doubling on his tracks, 
always in itself a suspicious circumstance, young Mora 
had succeeded in discovering that he was being fol- 
lowed, whereupon my man desisted. After that I had 
no difficulty in continuing the chase, for having rid 
himself of a spy he was no longer suspicious. I may 
say, in passing, that just after this my man met you with 
Slippery Sam near Apollo Hall, for we were in that 
neighborhood. Mora went straight to a house, which 
he entered, using a night-key. Half an hour later he 
came out again with a bundle. This time he looked 
about for spies, but seeing no one whom he mistrusted, 
he hurried, by the nearest way, to the river, where he 
tossed the bundle overboard. You see, it was no part 
of his intention to destroy the clothes. Indeed, I have 
no doubt that he hopes that they will be found, where- 
upon he will claim that the assassin has thrown them 
into the river. But, unfortunately, such a claim will 
not only be useless, but it will now injure his cause, for 
I have some ideas about these garments which may 
prove puzzling to him.” 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 


123 


“ I would like to hear them.” 

“ We will come to that better, I think, when we meet 
Mr. Mora face to face.” 

“ And when will that be ? ” 

“ I have taken the liberty to write him a letter, asking 
him to call here on business of vital importance.” 

“ And do you think that he will come ? ” 

“Yes ! He is playing a bold game. It is time he were 
here now, because I asked him to be with us by ten, and 
it is now half-past. Therefore let me conclude. After 
recovering the bundle, which of course I did very 
promptly, I returned to the house, and there I discov- 
ered a pretty little woman who calls herself Mrs. Morton. 
Moreover, I am convinced that Morton and Mora are 
one and the same.” 

“You mean to say that he is secretly married under 
an assumed name ? ” 

“ So it appears at a superficial glance. What we may 
learn when we probe deeper remains to be see. Ah ! 
There is your bell. It is he.” 

Within a few minutes the door opened to admit a 
young man, faultlessly dressed in a suit of black. Young 
Mora was a beardless youth, with only the first suspicion 
of a moustache, but there was that in his manner which 
betokened a keen intellect, and sharp wits. His eyes 
wandered from one to the other of the two men fear- 
lessly, and with a look which rather challenged them. 
His chin was large, and his jaws firmly set, indicating 


24 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


great power of self-control. Withal, he was a manly- 
fellow, and rather handsome, with his well chiselled 
features, and black hair parted evenly in the middle, 
but brushed so that it did not seem effeminate. Mr. 
Mitchel eyed him narrowly, and a new interest in the 
case sprang up within his mind. Could this be a mur- 
derer ? If so he fancied that it would be difficult to 
prove. He therefore awaited the interview between Mr. 
Barnes and the new-comer with anticipations of enjoy- 
ment. It was to be a battle of wits, which always allured 
him. 

“You asked me to call here, I believe, Mr. Barnes,” 
said Mora, himself beginning the conversation. 

“ 1 did,” replied the detective. “ Permit me to pre- 
sent you to Mr. Leroy Mitchel ; and now, if you please, 
be seated.” 

The two men bowed, and Mr. Mitchel handed a chair, 
which Mora took. 

“ Mr. Mora,” continued Mr. Barnes, “ you may wonder 
why I have asked you to call here. I will therefore clear 
up that point at once. Since your release from the hands 
of the police, I understand that you have offered ten 
thousand dollars reward for the arrest and conviction of 
the man who murdered your father. Am I right ? ” 

“ Quite correct.” 

“ In that case I mean to earn the reward.” 

“ I shall be as pleased to pay it to you as to any other 


man. 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 


125 


“ Ah ! No doubt ! But would you be pleased at all, 
at the arrest and conviction of the criminal ? The real 
criminal I mean ? ” 

Mr. Barnes spoke slowly, with significant emphasis 
upon some of his words, and both he and Mr. Mitchel 
observed the young man closely, but detected no sign of 
uneasiness. His reply was terse and pertinent. 

“ I should. It is the only absolute proof of my own 
innocence which will be convincing to the world.” 

“ Always supposing, of course, that you are innocent,” 
said Mr. Barnes, mercilessly. 

“ My innocence is not a supposition. It is a fact,” 
retorted Mora, quickly, but without any show of temper. 

Mr. Mitchel was delighted with him, though his per- 
fect defense against the attack of the detective was only 
what he had been led to expect, from what he had heard 
of him. 

“ So you have insisted,” resumed Mr. Barnes. “ Your 
innocence, then, being a fact, as you call it, you have no 
fear of any investigation that I may make ? ” 

“ I have no fear of any truths that you might unearth. 
I am only afraid of your blunders.” 

“Well, then, in order to avoid my blundering, would 
you be willing to reply to a few questions, which if truth- 
fully answered, might prevent my slipping into error ? ” 

“ If you can convince me of your good faith, I would.” 

“ And what do you mean by my good faith ? ” 

“ I will tell you frankly, Jf you are trying honestly to 


126 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


unravel the mystery of my father’s death, I will assist 
you to the extent of my ability. If, however, you are 
merely piecing together evidence upon which you hope 
to prove my own guilt, why I am not such an ass as to 
help you.” 

“ No, of course not. Well then, Mr. Morton, I can 
assure you of my good faith. I am honestly trying to 
find the real murderer. Will you answer my questions ? ” 

Mr. Barnes called him Mr. Morton to note the effect 
of his words, and he was satisfied ; for though the detec- 
tive did not act as though aware of having used a wrong 
name, but continued so that one might readily have 
thought it a chance slip of the tongue, Mora started per- 
ceptibly, bit his lip, and strained every muscle in his body 
in his effort to preserve his self-control. All of this Mr. 
Barnes saw, and he considered that his manoeuvre had 
succeeded. 

Mr. Mitchel closely observing both men, also compre- 
hended the intent of the detective as well as its effect, 
but he decided that Mr. Barnes had made a grave error. 
It seemed more than probable that Morton was an alias 
of the man before them, and so much had been proven 
by taking him by surprise. But, at the same time, he was 
now on his guard, and could better prepare his defense, 
especially as Mr. Barnes could not play his trump cards 
at once. The situation, therefore, to Mr. Mitchel, was 
increasing in interest. 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 


127 


“ I will answer whatever you choose to ask,” presently 
came Mora’s reply. 

“You have suggested, Mr. Mora, that the murderer 
of your father took your plaid suit of clothes and wore 
them over his own when leaving the house. Do you 
still adhere to that theory ? ” 

“ I never said that I believed it,” was the answer. 

“You did not claim to believe it?” exclaimed the de- 
tective, thoroughly astonished. 

“ No,” said Mora, coolly. “ Let me explain. I think 
it was you who advanced a theory, that because a man 
in a plaid suit was seen at our house, it stood proven 
that I was there. To parry your attack I suggested a 
theory equally tenable, which agreed with my claim of 
innocence as well as your theory sustained your charge 
of guilt. But you cannot find it in the records that I 
said I believed my own proposition. It was the first 
that occurred to me, and I utilized it. I could think of 
others equally good, perhaps better, for that one had a 
flaw in it, which I was surprised to see passed un- 
noticed.” 

“ Perhaps you would not mind telling me the flaw in 
your own proposition,” said Mr. Barnes, with a slight 
sneer. 

“ With pleasure,” answered Mora, ignoring the tone 
of sarcasm. “ It is very evident. If the watchman was 
to be relied on when he said that he saw the plaid suit 


128 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


come out of the house, he must have been equally right 
in saying that he saw it go in. See ? ” 

He laughed in a tantalizing manner, and Mr. Barnes 
was annoyed. Mr. Mitchel was startled a little to hear 
Mora using the identical argument advanced by Preacher 
Jim. Yet Mr. Barnes thought the latter insane, while 
here was an important point, overlooked by himself, 
though clear to two others. 

“You said that you could advance other theories 
agreeing with your plea of innocence, yet explaining the 
fact about the suit of clothes,” said Mr. Barnes, deter- 
mined to press this matter. “ I would like to hear one. 
One without a flaw this time.” 

“ Nothing easier. Let us suppose that the murderer 
stole the suit before committing his crime, instead of 
afterwards, and there you are. The watchman’s story 
is true, and yet I am not in it, to use a slang phrase. 
Not in the suit, I mean. What do you say to that ?” 

“ I asked you for a theory without a flaw,” replied 
Mr. Barnes. 

“And where is the flaw in this?” 

“ If your clothing had been stolen, you would have 
complained of the loss,” said the detective. 

“ Not if the theft occurred on the night of the mur- 
der, and was ^therefore unknown to me at the time.” 

“Not good enough, Mr. Mora. No one entered that 
house that night but yourself and the murderer, if in- 
deed there were two. No thief went in earlier in the 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 1 29 

evening and came out again, as he must have done, to 
be seen going in wearing your suit.” 

“ You are very shrewd, Mr. Detective, but you are 
not omniscient. You argue from the premise that the 
suit was in the house, whereas, as a matter of fact, it was 
not.” 

“ Where, then, was it ? ” 

“ At some rooms I have down in Essex Street.” 

The audacity of this reply made Mr. Barnes start to 
his feet, while Mr. Mitchel, admiring the craftiness of 
the move, listened with redoubled interest. 

“ Then you admit that you have another home,” 
ejaculated the detective. 

“ Why not, since you know it ? ” was the cool re- 
joinder. 

“Ah, then you also confess that you call yourself 
Morton there, and that you have a wife, who ” 

“ Not so fast, Mr. Barnes. I am not confessing any 
such nonsense. I had a room there, because I found it 
convenient in my slumming trips to sleep down town 
occasionally ; also to have a place where I could change 
my clothing to less expensive apparel than I usually 
wear. I also think it safe enough to say that there is a 
Mrs. Morton in the same house. I will go further, and 
tell you that I know the lady very well, and that it was 
she who recommended the room to me. When I en- 
gaged the place I gave the name Morton, desiring, first, 
to hide my own identity, and, secondly, to accoutre for 


130 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


my friendliness with the young woman. But no one in 
that house will tell you that I posed as the woman’s hus- 
band. They believed me to be her brother-in-law. Her 
husband is away somewhere.” 

“ Then there is nothing between you and this 
woman ? ” 

“ Nothing but friendship. She often obtained en- 
trance for me into places where I could study the life of 
that section, but which would have been impenetrable 
to anyone not known. She was useful to me in that 
way, and I have the kindliest feelings for her. If you 
find anything suspicious about that, you are welcome to 
make the most of it.” 

Mr. Barnes began to think that he had made a mis- 
take in mentioning the name Morton. Mr. Mitchel 
knew it. This explanation, however improbable, was 
one that it would be difficult to disprove, especially as 
Mora could readily warn his associates in the house, 
and coach them to support his story. Mr. Barnes, how- 
ever, did not entirely despair. 

“ Then it was from this house that you now think that 
your clothes were stolen.” 

“ I do not think so. I assert it.” 

“ At last we get to something tangible. The suit was 
stolen from the house in Essex Street ; the murderer 
wore it to your home, and, after killing your father, 
came out again in the same garb. So much we know. 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 


13 


Now, what did he do with these blood-stained gar- 
ments ? ” 

“ Ah, that is for the great detective, Mr. Barnes, to 
discover.” 

“ My own idea would be, that he would not destroy 
them,” said the detective, appearing not to notice the 
other’s sneering tones. “ Shall I tell you why ? ” 

“ By ail means.” 

“ Because his wearing them at all must have been a 
part of- his scheme. He wished others to think that you 
committed the deed. He would, therefore, prefer to 
have the things found.” 

“ That is very probable.” 

“ One good place to throw anything, which one wishes 
to have found, is in the river. Therefore I fancy that 
the murderer might have thrown the suit into the river. 
What do you think ? ” 

Mora did not quail before this very significant speech. 
On the contrary, with great coolness he said : 

“ I think that you are mistaken.” 

“ And why do you think that I am mistaken ? ” said 
Mr. Barnes. 

“ Because,” said Mora, rising to his feet and boldly 
facing Mr. Barnes, who also arose, “ Because the mur- 
derer did not throw them into the river. It was I who 
did that.” 

“ You ? ” gasped Mr, Barnes, utterly taken aback, as 


132 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


he saw his supposedly strong evidence against this man 
about to be swept aside. “ You say that you threw the 
suit into the river ? ” 

“ Do you doubt it ? Did you not see me — you — you 
spy ! ” 

The last words came forth with a hissing sound, and 
the young man assumed a threatening attitude, which 
tempted Mr. Mitchel to speak for the first time. 

“ Come, no violence ! ” he exclaimed, rising quickly, 
and grasping Mora’s upraised arm. The younger man 
wrenched himself loose by a quick movement, and turned 
to confront Mr. Mitchel. 

“ And who are you ? ” he cried. “ You have been 
sitting by in silence while this — this thief-taker has been 
trying to twist something out of my mouth which he 
could use to place a rope around my neck. A nice busi- 
ness you both are in.” 

“You do not know me, Mr. Mora, or you would not 
speak so harshly. In my conversations with Mr. Barnes 
I have argued that you are innocent.” 

“ I presume you expect me to be grateful to you for 
that. Well, I am not. I am not guilty, and I defy all 
such detectives as this Mr. Barnes here.” 

“You may defy me as much as you like,” said Mr. 
Barnes, hotly, exasperated by the contemptuous words 
which had been used. “ But you have admitted that since 
the murder, you had the plaid suit in your possession, and 


THE PLAID SUIT OF CLOTHES. 


133 


that you attempted to dispose of it. That you will find 
very difficult to explain.” 

“ I should never hope that any explanation of mine 
would penetrate your thick skull,” said Mora, “ and I 
would not attempt it, except that perhaps your friend 
here is more reasonable than yourself, and might per- 
suade you of the stupidity of having me arrested, which 
I presume is the next step which you contemplate.” 

“ No other course would be open to me, unless you 
can account for your very suspicious action,” replied Mr. 
Barnes. 

“ All things are suspicious to those who suspect,” said 
Mora. Then turning to Mr. Mitchel, he continued : 
“ This man admits that if the murderer wore my cloth- 
ing, it was because he wished me to be suspected. Very 
well. Upon my release yesterday I hastened to the 
Essex Street house, because I had an idea which was 
quickly confirmed. The man stole my clothes, and after 
killing my father, he returned them to the closet from 
which he had taken them. Imagine my position, if my 
connection with the house had been learned, and the 
clothes found in my closet, with the blood on them ? On 
finding them, I was terrified, and I lost my head. I 
made the great mistake of hurrying with them to the 
river. I see now that I should have acted otherwise.” 

“What should you have done ?” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ I should have gone to the police station, and told the 


134 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


truth. The truth will always prevail — only in this 
instance ” 

He hesitated, seemed confused, and stopped, leaving 
the sentence incomplete. 

“ Only in this instance the truth was so improbable 
that the police might have misconstrued your action into 
a bold game of bluff,” said Mr. Mitchel, finishing it for 
him. “ Is that your idea ? ” 

“Yes. We’ll let it go at that.” He looked at Mr. 
Mitchel keenly for a few moments, then suddenly added, 
“ I wish you gentlemen a very good morning,” and hur- 
ried from the apartment. 

Mr. Mitchel waited for Mr. Barnes to speak first, and 
very soon the detective asked : 

“ Well, Mr. Mitchel, what do you think ? ” 

“ I think I could have finished that young man’s sen- 
tence exactly as he had framed it mentally. I think I 
could supply the words which he suppressed. I think 
your case is getting to be intensely interesting. And I 
think that I will take a walk — alone — if you will excuse 
me.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 

W HEN young Mora left the room so suddenly, 
Mr. Barnes, before asking for Mr. Mitchel’s 
opinion, had hurried to the window, and had 
so placed himself behind the curtains, that he com- 
manded a view of the street, though himself well screened 
from view. This precaution was well taken, for he saw 
Mora closely examine the window before jumping into 
his cab, which awaited. As the vehicle was driven away 
he asked his question, but he continued to gaze into the 
street, until in a few moments another cab turned the cor- 
ner and went in the same direction as the first. By this 
time Mr. Mitchel had replied, and Mr. Barnes found time 
to answer : 

“ You wish to take a walk alone ? That means you do 
not desire my companionship. Well, that is satisfactory, 
for I believe I can do what must be done now with more 
facility if I, too, am alone.” 

He paused as though expecting Mr. Mitchel to speak, 
but that gentleman could not have been curious to know 
what the detective contemplated, for he remained silent. 
Mr. Barnes, therefore, at once took his leave. 

i35 


136 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


In the street, he stood still a moment, looking after 
the two cabs, which were still in sight. He then walked 
rapidly in the opposite direction for a couple of blocks, 
when he turned and hurried to the nearest station of 
the Elevated railroad. Twenty minutes later he was 
standing in a doorway, nearly opposite to the Mora 
mansion. Here he waited so long, that, patient detec- 
tive though he was, he began to be restive, and would 
come from his hiding-place, gaze quickly up and down 
the street, and then hurry back to his retreat between 
the inner and outer doors. 

At last the sound of wheels satisfied him, and he 
slipped behind a door, being thus completely hidden, 
though through the crevice he could still observe the 
Mora dwelling. 

The cab drove up, and young Mora alighted. He 
paid his fare, and then he did a somewhat strange thing. 
He looked up and down the street, until his cab had 
turned into the avenue and disappeared ; then he went 
up his stoop and hid behind the outer door of his own 
house, exactly as Mr. Barnes was hiding opposite. The 
detective wondered what this manoeuvre might mean, 
but he soon discovered. 

Two or three minutes had elapsed when a man slowly 
passed, who looked sharply into the Mora house. In- 
stantly young Mora darted forth and seized him, at the 
same time touching the electric button which summoned 
his butler. Mr. Barnes could make out, by his gesticu- 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 


137 


lation, that the new-comer was protesting, but Mora held 
him firmly, giving some orders to his servant which sent 
that worthy hurrying down the street, without waiting to 
get a hat. A few minutes later the man returned with 
a policeman. Then there was apparently some argu- 
ment, but eventually the officer went off, leading the 
man by the arm, despite his continued protests, while 
Mora looked after them with a smile. 

Mr. Barnes saw and comprehended all that had taken 
place. He smiled also. 

“ You may dispose of that man, my boy, but now you 
have Jack Barnes to deal with,” he mused. 

This is what had occurrred. When Mora left Mr. 
Mitchel’s house, Mr. Barnes was satisfied that as he 
jumped into his cab, he merely exclaimed “ Home,” for 
he seemingly uttered but a single word. Mora being a 
man of wealth, the detective had rightly imagined that 
he would come to the house in a -cab. To be prepared 
against all emergencies, he had consequently stationed 
a cab within reasonable distance, the occupant of which 
was one of his spies. When he saw the second cab go 
by therefore, he felt assured that even though he might 
have made a mistake, Mora would be watched. On the 
supposition, however, that he was correct, he had taken 
the Elevated road, which had enabled him to get to the 
house ahead of the vehicles. That he had been com- 
pelled to wait so long argued that Mora must have 
stopped on the way and Mr. Barnes would have been 


138 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

very glad now for a few words with his spy, who was 
being led off by the policeman. 

It was evident that Mora had noticed the cab follow- 
ing him, and had craftily rid himself of the spy by 
having him arrested. That he could have any suspicion 
of the near presence of Mr. Barnes seemed highly im- 
probable. Therefore the detective congratulated him. 
self upon his success, and had no fear that he would be 
unable to keep his man in sight for the rest of the day. 

Young Mora then went into his house, and very 
shortly after Mr. Barnes observed that the shutter of 
one of the windows of the parlor was slightly opened ; 
just enough to enable anyone within to peep out. 

“ He ’s a careful devil,” growled the detective. “ He 
has heard of the double spy method, and even though 
he ought to feel certain that there is no other spy 
around, he is trying to discover one. I must be very 
cautious.” 

The shutter was soon closed again, and half an hour 
passed with nothing to break the monotony of the 
watch, when suddenly the door was opened and a man 
came out and walked rapidly down the street. Mr. 
Barnes was on the point of hurrying after him, when he 
suddenly stopped, just in time to prevent himself from 
passing beyond the protection of the door. Taking a 
small opera glass from his pocket he looked at the man 
for some moments, and then at the various windows of 
the house opposite. 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 


139 


“ You devil ! ” he muttered half aloud. “You almost 
caught me that time. So ! You ’ve dressed your valet 
up in your clothes, and sent him out to be followed by 
any spy who may be about. Well, my boy, the next 
time you try that on me, don’t select a man who takes 
three strides to your one. Ah ! There you are, are 
you ? ” 

This time it was Mora himself who came out of the 
house, dressed in totally different attire. He seemed to 
be altogether at ease, and to be careless whether detec- 
tives were about or not, for without haste, and without 
looking back, he quietly walked up the street. 

“ Shall I follow him, or his man ? ” thought Mr. Barnes. 
“ I believe that he is the sort who would never make a 
confidant of anyone. The valet was but a decoy in 
case I had another spy posted near his house. He will 
himself attend to whatever business he has in hand.” 

Mr. Barnes now came cautiously forth, and began 
shadowing Mora with the skill of a veteran. In the 
side street he kept so far in the rear, and always so near 
a door or a tree-box, that if Mora had turned his head 
ever so quickly, he would not have seen Mr. Barnes. 
On Broadway, which they soon reached, the crowded 
nature of the thoroughfare made it possible to keep 
closer, but he never risked to approach too near. 

And so they passed on down Broadway, the detective 
always keeping discreetly at a proper distance, until they 
approached Delmonico’s. Here Mora went in, and tak- 


140 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


ing a seat at a table near the window, satisfied Mr. 
Barnes by his action that he no longer supposed that he 
was watched. Whatever the business which had called 
him out, he seemed to be in no haste, for he took his 
time over his luncheon, then called some acquaintances 
whom he recognized, and ordered wine and cigars, which 
they all discussed together, until more than two hours 
had elapsed. Then suddenly looking at his watch, he 
seemed surprised to find it so late, for he spoke a 
few words to his friends, then hurried out and crossed 
quickly to Sixth Avenue. Mr. Barnes of course kept 
him in sight and took a street car following the one into 
which Mora had jumped. 

Much to the surprise of the detective, Mora alighted 
at the Jefferson Market police station, and went into the 
court-room. At the risk of being observed, Mr. Barnes 
followed as far as the doorway, where, with a nod to the 
policeman on guard, he placed himself so that he could 
peep in. 

Very soon he understood Mora’s errand. He had 
visited the place to make a charge against the spy, whom 
he had caused to be arrested, and to Mr. Barnes’s chagrin 
his man was fined ten dollars for annoying Mr. Mora, 
and was moreover warned not to repeat the offense. 

Mr. Barnes found a hiding-place which screened him, 
while Mora passed out, but the young man now walked 
so rapidly, that Mr. Barnes feared to take the time to 
have a few words with his man, who was paying his fine, 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 


141 

lest he should lose sight of Mora. He felt certain that 
he had remained up town merely to keep this engage- 
ment at the police court, but that now, the affair being 
settled, and the spy ordered not to follow him, he would 
hasten to attend to that which he was so unwilling to 
have anyone witness. 

There is a station of the Elevated road only a few 
steps away from the Jefferson Market court-house, and 
Mora ran up the stairway three steps at a jump. He 
seemed to be in a hurry. Mr. Barnes hastened after 
him, for a train was approaching. He was compelled to 
take the risk of being seen, lest by too much caution he 
should lose his man altogether. But though he was 
scarcely ten feet behind him, as they passed the ticket 
chopper, Mora took no notice of him, not even looking 
back. Mr. Barnes, however, stepped into a different car. 
At Bleecker Street, the very next station, Mora left the 
train, thus again proving his anxiety now to reach his 
destination, for he had taken the Elevated road for a 
ride of less than half a mile. Descending to the street 
he walked rapidly eastward, and Mr. Barnes began to 
suspect that he was now going to the house in Essex 
Street, which surmise proved correct. 

The basement of this old-fashioned house had been 
converted into a small shop, which was at this time occu- 
pied by a baker ; and it was into the baker’s shop, 
instead of through the main entrance, that Mr. Barnes 
was surprised to see Mora go. Anxious to learn if pos- 


142 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


sible what his object was, Mr. Barnes went near the win- 
dow and peeped between the huge loaves of bread, 
which almost obscured the whole interior. He saw the 
baker give Mora a letter, which the latter opened and 
read, and then turning, came out so quickly that M 
Barnes would have had no chance to conceal himself, 
had there been any lurking place nearby, which there 
was not. He did the next best thing, which was to walk 
away as fast as possible in the hope that Mora might go 
in an opposite direction, or if not, that he might fail to 
recognize him. 

Imagine Mr. Barnes’s chagrin, when Mora caught up 
with him, touched him on the shoulder, and caused him 
to turn and face him. 

“ Well, Mr. Barnes,” said Mora, “ I hope I have not 
inconvenienced you any, by taking so long to eat my 
luncheon ? Too bad, I could not ask you in, but I had 
some friends with me who are a little particular about 
their associates, and they draw the line at detectives. 
You understand.” 

Then with a tantalizing laugh he turned and walked 
off, leaving Mr. Barnes speechless with astonishment. 

“ How the deuce did he know that I was following 
him ? ” exclaimed Mr. Barnes, forgetting that he was 
alone, and speaking aloud. 

“ He did not know it,” said a voice, which made Mr. 
Barnes even more amazed, for he recognized the speaker 
as Mr. Mitchel. 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 


M3 


“ Mr. Mitchel ! ” he cried. “ By all that ’s wonderful, 
what brought you here ? ” 

“ I came by the Elevated as far as possible. You see, 
I was afraid that I should be too late.” 

“ Too late for what ? ” 

“ Too late to see what I have seen.” 

“ And what have you seen ? ” 

“ All that has occurred ! I have been here ever since 
I left you this morning.” 

“ Do you mean that you came directly here, from your 
house ? ” 

“ I do not think that I wasted as much as a minute. 
You see I recognized at a glance the importance of 
being here.” 

“ And I did not ! ” groaned Mr. Barnes. 

“ Oh, yes you did,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ only you took 
the wrong way of reaching here. Instead of using your 
brains, you utilized the old-fashioned spy system. Force 
of habit, I suppose.” 

“ Mr. Mitchel, I have made a blunder. I admit it, and 
I feel sore enough, without your chaffing. But never 
mind ! Thank heaven you foresaw that the next move 
would be made here, and so you came direct to the 
scene of action, and awaited developments. Was that 
it ? ” 

“ Yes ! That was the way in which I argued it out. 
But you would have been here on time, if you had not 
made the mistake of following the wrong man.” 


144 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Mora dressed his servant up, in his clothes. You 
probably detected the trick, and concluded that he was 
merely using the man as a decyftyi” 

“ Yes. I did not believe that Jie would trust his ser- 
vant in an important matter.” 

“ Ah, but he did not need to make a confidant of 
him. What his man had to do was very simple.” 

“ How do you mean ? What has occurred ? ” 

“ I came here early, and have loitered in the saloon 
opposite ever since. After a time a carriage drove up, 
and a man dressed in the clothing which Mora wore at 
my house, alighted. I saw at once, however, that it was 
not Mora. He went into the house, remained only a few 
minutes, and when he came out, went off on foot, leav- 
ing the carriage standing. Evidently he was intrusted 
merely with the delivery of a letter.” 

“To Mrs. Morton ! Yes ! You are right ! Go on ! ” 
“ Nearly an hour passed, and I was hoping that you 
might arrive. Then a woman came out and entered the 
carriage. Next a man brought out a trunk, which was 
placed on the carriage seat, and then the vehicle was 
driven away.” 

“ And you did not follow that carriage ? ” 

“ How could I do so ? ” was Mr. Mitchel’s unsatis- 
factory reply. 

“You are right again ! There are no cabs at hand in 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 


145 


this neighborhood. Well, it ’s too bad. They ’ve beaten 
us for the time. Tel ’ll find that woman again, or my 
name ’s not Barnes. Come ! We will go into the 
house.” 

“ I have already been in,” said Mr. Mitchel, quietly. 
“ There is nothing to be gained. The woman has gone, 
and she has taken her personal effects with her. She 
left a letter for Mora in the baker shop, which you saw 
him receive. Curiously enough, the room occupied by 
Mora, when he calls himself Morton, remains untouched. 
I have seen the landlady, and she tells me that Mrs. 
Morton has ‘ left for good.’ I asked about Mr. Morton, 
and she replied : ‘ Bless your ’eart, ’e ’s my best lodger, ’e 
is. ’E takes ’is room by the quarter.’ ” 

“ Did you ask whether he was Mrs. Morton’s hus- 
band ? ” 

“ I thought it a useless question myself, but I also 
imagined that you might expect me to ask it, so I did so. 
She declared, as I felt assured that she would, that there 
was nothing between the two but friendship. In short, 
she told the same story which Mora told us. She had 
thoroughly learned her lesson, you may be sure.” 

“ You mean that he sent a letter to Mrs. Morton, 
instructing her how to arrange matters ? Of course. 
What a fool I ’ve been, to waste such valuable time fol- 
lowing that devil about. But did you not find anything 
that might serve as a clue ? ” 


146 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Nothing whatever in the woman’s room, but I took 
the liberty of removing this from the mantel in Morton’s 
apartment.” 

He handed Mr. Barnes a cabinet photograph, which 
that gentleman looked at carefully. It was the picture 
of a young girl, and printed on the card were the words : 
“ The Lily of the Valley.” 

“What does this amount to?” asked Mr. Barnes. 
“ This is a photograph of a little actress who sings in the 
concert halls on the Bowery.” 

“ Then you see no significance in the fact that I found 
it in Mora’s room ? ” 

“ None whatever,” said Mr. Barnes. “ The picture is 
pretty, and can be bought for twenty-five cents. I ’ll 
wager that every ‘Johnny’ in town has one on his 
mantel.” 

“You do not think that it is the photograph of this 
Mrs. Morton ?” 

“ Why, no ! Of course not. Do you not see how 
youthful this girl is ? That is not all artifice, though she 
poses as a child actress on the stage. I happen to know 
that the ‘Lily of the Valley’ is scarcely more than six- 
teen, and she is more of a child in her manner than even 
her years indicate.” 

“ She ’s a very pretty child,” said Mr. Mitchel, taking 
the photograph back and looking at it. While thus en- 
gaged he was startled to hear Mr. Barnes say in an 
undertone : 


MR. BARNES AT WORK. 


147 


“ Look ! Look quickly at the window on the top floor 
of that house ! ” Mr. Mitchel did so, but merely caught 
a glimpse of a man withdrawing his head. It disap- 
peared before he could recognize it. 

“ Do you know who it was ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Why, yes,” said Mr. Barnes. “ I wonder what he is 
doing in that house. It seems strange.” 

“ Who is it ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel again. “ You have 
not told me.” 

“ Why, unless I am greatly mistaken, I should say it 
was your crazy lecturer, Preacher Jim.” 


r 


CHAPTER IX. 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 

M R. BARNES’S words astonished Mr. Mitchel, and 
aroused a train of thought which made him 
more than ever interested in the complicated 
problem which they were endeavoring to solve. He 
could not immediately arrive at any definite conclusions, 
but these were the points to which he attached the 
greatest importance. 

First, young Mora suggested to the police that the 
murderer had worn his plaid suit over his own blood- 
stained garments when leaving the house. Second, 
Preacher Jim had contended that this could not be, 
because if the watchman was to be believed w T hen claim- 
ing that he had seen the wearer of the suit come out of 
the house, he should be credited with being equally 
correct in his statement that he had seen it on the man 
going in. Third, Mora advanced exactly the same 
argument, and then claimed that the suit had been 
appropriated by the murderer, who had stolen it from 
the Essex Street house. Fourth, if Mr. Barnes was 
correct, here was Preacher Jim peeping from a window 
of this very house. 


148 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 


I49 


What logical deduction should he accept ? Why did 
Mora first advance one theory, and then adopt another ? 
In his excitement, in the first place, had he forgotten 
that the watchman must be believed wholly, or not at all ? 
And was the second theory invented to meet the occasion ? 

Since Preacher Jim apparently had access to this 
house, had he shown Mora the mistake that he had 
made ? As a professional crook, was he coaching this 
young man through the difficulties of his first crime ? 
Or, if they were intimate, as they must be according to 
that view, were they accomplices ? Had Mora com- 
mitted the deed himself, or had he secured the services 
of Preacher Jim for the bloody deed ? 

Or, since Preacher Jim had suggested a sufficient 
motive for the murder by a professional crook, had he 
conducted the enterprise himself in order to obtain the 
will, and subsequently blackmail Mora ? Had he stolen 
the clothes in which he might enter the Mora mansion, 
deceiving the watchman as to his identity, and had he 
then artfully returned them ? 

Mr. Mitchel had just formulated this q/estion men- 
tally, when Preacher Jim himself emerged from the 
house and approached. This action showed that he 
was not afraid to have it known that he had been in the 
house. Mr. Mitchel admired his boldness, and was 
curious to hear what he would say. 

“Well, gentlemen,” said Preacher Jim, nodding to 
Mr. Barnes, who acknowledged the salutation, and ex- 


i5o 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


tending his hand to Mr. Mitchel, who took it, “ it has 
been an entertaining drama, has it not ? Though par- 
don me, Mr. Barnes, I am forgetting. You missed a 
part of it, eh ? ” 

“ Missed a part of what ? asked the detective, coldly. 
“ I do not understand you.” 

“ Oh, you are not so stupid as you would have me 
believe, Mr. Detective. If you were, certain friends of 
mine would be at liberty instead of serving the govern- 
ment. I allude to the hasty departure which you arrived 
too late to witness.” 

“ How do you know that ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, 
sharply. 

“ I have eyes in my head, and brains in my skull. I 
have been looking on from the gallery as it were, while 
you, Mr. Mitchel, occupied a private box, and Mr. Barnes 
here, standing room only, and at the very end of the 
play too.” 

“What do you mean by the gallery?” asked Mr. 
Mitchel, persistently. 

“Four flights up. Top floor, front window. Place 
empty. Last tenant moved out on account of rats and 
a leaky roof. Next tenant not yet in prospect, so my 
friend, Slippery Sam, who boasts the pleasure of your 
acquaintance, and who is not very particular about 
where he sleeps or how, so long as no rent is collected, 
has pre-empted the place, and taken up his temporary 
lodging therein during the last few days.” 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 


IS* 

“ How many days, to be exact ? ” 

“Ah, I see ! You wish to work up our friend’s his- 
tory? Well, to be exact, eight days. At least, that is 
according to his statement, and I rely on it, because — 
well, because I do not think that Sam has the courage to 
lie to Preacher Jim.” 

“ And you were calling on him, I suppose,” suggested 
Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Oh, no, not at all ! I have never before been in the 
house, though of course I have known where Sam was 
residing ever since he moved in. That is according to 
our system, which I think I explained to you. But 
since you seem to be curious to know how and why I 
was in the place, I have no reason to conceal the facts 
from you.” 

“ I do not deny that I would like to know,” said Mr. 
Mitchel. 

“Well, then, in connection with certain matters, I 
came down into this neighborhood to watch Sam person- 
ally for a few hours. Therefore, you may be sure I did 
not call on him as you suggest. Reaching here, I saw 
you playing the spy, and I decided that it would be 
quite as profitable perhaps to watch you. I might learn 
just what you are up to, you see. I felt repaid for my 
trouble when I saw Sam join you, for then I knew ” 

Here he paused for a moment, because, observing Mr. 
Mitchel closely while speaking, at this point he saw that 
gentleman dart a swift glance in his direction, which 


152 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


he rightly interpreted to mean that he did not wish Mr. 
Barnes to know more of his interview with Slippery Sam. 
Preacher Jim therefore concluded his sentence in differ- 
ent words from those which he had at first contemplated 
using. He went on : 

“ that I could kill two birds with one stone, and 

keep an eye on both of you. I saw that Sam did not 
intend to return to the house ; and while he was talking 
with you, I concluded that I could not do better than to 
run up to the room which he had just left. I might 
make some discoveries there, and the window offered a 
good place from which to observe you." 

“ So you were playing the spy then," said Mr. Barnes, 
with a sneer. “ Mr. Mitchel told me that you had 
boasted that were you a detective, you would not adopt 
such methods." 

“ Quite true ! *' replied Preacher Jim, promptly. “ If 
I were a detective. A large if, Mr. Barnes, eh ? But as 
I am only a common criminal, why the rule does not 
apply, does it ? " 

“You were playing detective, if we believe your own 
story, therefore you should have used your brains — if 
you have any. That was your brag." 

“ As to my brains, you should not expect me to be as 
clever as yourself. As to my spying — that is another 
affair. You detectives have an axiom — ‘ Set a thief to 
catch a thief.’ We crooks have another : ‘ Spy on a spy 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 


153 


and he won’t spy you.’ We must live up to axioms or 
the literature of the language would lose its lustre.” 

“ Spy on me as much as you like,” said Mr. Barnes, 
testily. “ Much good may it do you.” 

“ This is idle talk,” interrupted Mr. Mitchel, “ and 
mere waste of time. Preacher Jim, you prophesied that 
the plaid suit of clothes, supposed to have been worn by 
the murderer of Mr. Mora, would be found.” 

“ I did, and I still believe so.” 

Mr. Barnes made signs to Mr. Mitchel, protesting 
against what he foresaw was about to occur, but that 
gentleman did not heed him. 

“ You are right. The suit has been found.” 

“ Indeed? Where? How?” 

“ Young Mora was seen to throw it into the river, and 
it was fished out again.” 

“Young Mora? Threw the things into the river? 
That looks suspicious. Very suspicious. It almost 
upsets my own theory.” 

“ I would like to hear exactly what your theory is,” 
said Mr. Barnes. 

“ I have no doubt,” replied Preacher Jim, with a 
scornful laugh, “ but aiding detectives is out of my line. 
I ’m a crook, but not so low down as that.” 

“ Tell me why you think Mora’s action suspicious ? ” 
asked Mr. Mitchel, with a signal to Mr. Barnes to allow 
him to continue the conversation. 


i54 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Why, you ought to see that yourself,” said the 
criminal. “ Mora’s proposition is that the murderer 
wore these togs over his own. Having found them he 
ought to have carried them to the police station that 
their condition might corroborate his theory, if possible. 
That he did not do this, tempts one to think that he has 
little faith in his own theory.” 

“ Again you are right,” said Mr. Mitchel, admiring 
the logical manner in which the man reached his deduc- 
tions. “ Mora now says that he offered that explanation 
to the police, because he thought of nothing better at the 
time. Now he argues that the murderer stole his clothes 
here, in Essex Street, wore them to the house, committed 
the crime, and returned them to the closet from which 
he had taken them.” 

“ So that is the new edition of his theory, is it ? Quite 
a pretty story. The criminal must have had a fairy 
god-mother to throw dust in people’s eyes, lest they see 
her protege in all this coming and going. Pah ! Mora is 
a coward.” 

“ Why so ? ” 

“ He hit the nail on the head the first time, and then 
is afraid of the consequences of telling the truth.” 

“ Speak more plainly.” 

“ I will do so, though I ought not to be teaching this 
detective his trade. But this time I will show him that 
I can use brains. Listen ! Let us imagine the circum- 
stances, Mora told the police that the murderer wore 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 


155 


the plaid suit over his own clothing. The presumption 
of course being that there was blood upon him. When 
released from the lock-up, he hurries down here and 
looks over the clothes. He finds upon them something 
that corroborates his theory. Then he grows alarmed. 
He does not object to having the police think he has 
told the truth, but he fears to have them know that he 
did. They might wonder how he chanced to make so 
good a guess.” 

“ And for that reason you think he finally decided to 
destroy the things ? You may be right, but we could 
test it, if Mr. Barnes would permit us to see the clothes. 
Will you ? ” 

Mr. Barnes had serious objections to this, but did not 
like to refuse a request, which he saw that Mr. Mitchel 
made with great earnestness. Therefore, with much 
reluctance he led the way to his office in lower Broad- 
way, and produced the bundle of clothing. The gar- 
ments had been opened and dried, and were now in a 
wrinkled and slightly shrunken condition. 

“ Now then,” said Mr. Mitchel, addressing Preacher 
Jim, “ you think there might have been something about 
these which would corroborate Mora’s first theory. You 
must have had some definite thought in your mind, and 
I half suspect that I could guess what you mean. But I 
would be glad to have you tell we.” 

“ It is very simple. These garments must have blood- 
stains upon them, or Mora would not have thrown them 


i $6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


into the river. The stains must have reached the 
clothes, either during the commission of the murder, or 
afterwards. In the first instance, the blood would pri- 
marily show upon the outside. In the second, it would 
be upon the inside, from contact with the other clothes.” 

“Very good as far as it goes. But as fresh blood 
would readily soak through the cloth, it would appear 
on either side, would it not ? ” 

“ You overlook the lining in the vest and upper part 
of the trousers. If the blood was spattered on the out- 
side, during the killing, there would be but little if any 
stain upon the linings. If on the contrary these clothes 
were slipped over the blood-stained garments of the 
murderer, there would be much blood upon the linings, 
and very little comparatively would soak through to the 
outside, opposite to these places. In the unlined por- 
tions, it would, of course, be difficult to decide, but a 
man would be lucky indeed to have the blood spatter so 
fortunately.” 

As Mr. Mitchel listened, he thought of Mr. Barnes’s 
statements that this man was mad. Could it be ? If so 
he had some very rational moments. He now carefully 
examined the clothing himself. First he took up the 
coat, upon which he found nothing. 

“No blood on that, I believe,” said he passing it to 
Preacher Jim, who took it calmly and also looked it 
over. “ So far there is no clue, one way or the other.” 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 


157 


“ I beg your pardon,” said Preacher Jim. “ You are 
mistaken.” 

“ How ? Do you find any stains ? ” 

“ No ! But that does not prove that this coat may not 
furnish an important clue. I will explain after you have 
examined the other things.” 

“ I find something here,” said Mr. Barnes, who had 
been examining the trousers,. “ which seems to show 
that you have reasoned cleverly. There are a few blood 
stains near the knees, but there is only a slight one higher 
up, whereas the pocket is quite badly stained.” 

“ Let me see,” said Mr. Mitchel, taking the garment. 
“ By heaven, you are right, Preacher Jim. The stain is 
on the side of the pocket which must have rested next 
to the garment which it covered, yet, although the cloth 
is thin, there is actually no stain on the other half of the 
pocket.” 

“That is strange,” said Preacher Jim, coming and 
looking on. “ How do you account for it ? ” 

“ I think that there was something in the pocket, 
which protected the other half. Who knows ? It may 
have been the stolen will ! ” 

“ In which case the will would be bloody on one 
side,” suggested Mr. Barnes. 

“If it were found, and showed such a stain, what 
beautiful corroborative details we would have ! ” said 
Preacher Jim. 


i5« 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“Without such corroboration, we must be convinced 
by this alone, that Mora’s first theory was the correct 
one. The murderer wore these things over his own 
clothing. But you have not told us what evidence you 
find in the coat which is not stained ? ” 

“ You have not examined the vest. What do you find 
there ? ” 

“ The vest adds to the chain,” said Mr. Barnes, hand- 
ing it to Mr. Mitchel. “ See how badly the lining is 
stained on one side, and how little blood has soaked 
through.” 

“ Now, then, Preacher Jim,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ what 
do you make out of the coat ? ” 

“ I thought likely that you would find some stain on 
the vest. If you had not done so, my theory would 
have been upset. As it is, you see that the murderer 
got a bad stain upon himself, above the waist, probably 
in the struggle with the man, after he was wounded. If 
he had been dressed in this coat, the stain would have 
been on it.” 

“ True,” interposed Mr. Mitchel. “ But he might 
have removed his coat when he saw that the struggle 
was inevitable ? ” 

“ Very good ! In that case, the vest would have had 
this blood fresh upon the outside, and the lining of 
the coat would have soaked up the moist blood, when 
the garment was put on again.” 

“ You are right,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ Then it stands 


AN EXPERT OPINION. 


159 


proven, by these bloody marks, that the murderer did 
not wear these clothes, during the killing of Mr. Mora.” 
. “ All this is very pretty, and I give Preacher Jim 
credit,” said Mr. Barnes, “ for capital reasoning, at least 
in this case. Still I do not see that it aids us' much. 
We are still no nearer to the identity of the murderer. 
We are forced to believe that no one went in or out of 
that house that night, except the man in the plaid suit. 
If the murderer was not so dressed, then he must have 
been in hiding on the premises, and must have com- 
mitted the crime after young Mora came home, or he 
would not have been able to take the clothes as a dis- 
guise when going out.” 

“You are carrying us in too deep, and to no pur- 
pose,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ That theory is untenable, 
for you must remember that if Mora came home in the 
suit, it must have been he who went out again. Other- 
wise he could not have returned at five in the morning. 
But if he it was who wore the suit in, and then out of 
the house, how about the tale which these stains seem to 
tell ? What do you make of it, Preacher Jim ? ” 

“ I believe that the murderer wore the suit going in, 
and coming out, but that he was dressed in his under- 
clothing only, during the killing.” 

“ By heavens, you have guessed the truth ! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Barnes. “ Mora came home, and disrobed partially, 
preparing to retire. Then he must have visited his 
father’s room for some purpose. A quarrel ensued, dur- 


160 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

ing which he killed the old man. No ! He must have 
gone to the room contemplating the crime, for he carried 
the weapon with him. Afterwards he dressed again, 
and went down to his Essex Street place, where he must 
have destroyed his underclothing. It was not until 
yesterday, that he remembered the possibility of the 
outer garments being also stained.” 

“ Is that your opinion, Preacher Jim ? ” asked Mr. 
Mitchel, speaking slowly and watching the man closely. 
“ Is it your belief that Mr. Mora was killed by his son ? ” 

“ Since you insist upon having my views, yes,” replied 
Preacher Jim, gazing back into Mr. Mitchel’s eyes un- 
moved. “ I believe that Mr. Mora was killed by his 
son.” 

“ So, then, we are all of one mind,” Said Mr. Barnes. 

“ Are we ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ True ! You have not expressed your opinion,” an- 
swered Mr. Barnes. 

“ No ! I have not expressed my opinion as yet,” said 
Mr. Mitchel. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 

M R. MITCHEL and Preacher Jim left Mr. Barnes’s 
office together, and after proceeding a short dis- 
tance, Mr. Mitchel referred to the readiness 
with which his companion had understood him, when he 
had made a sign to him to say nothing about his having 
been in conversation with Slippery Sam, and he thanked 
him for having changed the subject. 

“ That is all very well, Mr. Mitchel,” said Preacher 
Jim, “ but you owe me an explanation, and I would like 
to have it now.” 

“ What is it that you desire me to explain to you ? ” 
asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ I saw you talking with Slippery Sam, but I could not 
hear what you said, of course, being at the window on 
the top floor. But when the women came out and the 
carriage was driven off, and Sam followed, I easily un- 
derstood that you had ordered him to learn where she 
would go.” 

“ You are correct, and he is to report to me to-night.” 
“ He will not do so.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

zz 


l6l 


162 the crime of the century. 

“ Because he will not know." 

“ You are mistaken. My cab was around the corner, 
and I gave Sam an order which transferred the vehicle 
to him. He will be easily able to keep the carriage in 
sight." 

“ You do not grasp the situation. You have given him 
the means of following the carriage, but nevertheless he 
did not do so." 

“ Did not do so ? Why, how do you know what oc- 
curred after they passed out of our sight ? " 

“ I know as well as though I had seen. I will tell you 
what took place. The carriage was driven rapidly to the 
Bowery ; there it stopped, and the driver alighted. As 
soon as your cab came around the corner, the driver of 
the carriage hailed it, and then spoke to Sam. He told 
him not to follow him any farther, and Sam abandoned 
the chase, dismissed the cab, and strolled leisurely down 
town." 

“You intimate that the carriage driver was known to 
you ; acting by your orders, perhaps ? " 

“ More than that. You are right as far as you go. 
The driver is a member of our Society, and acted ac- 
cording to instructions. He was warned that he might 
be followed, and told to prevent it at all hazards." 

“ Who gave him these orders ? " « 

“ Why, who else but the man who hired him ? " 

“ Then you mean that Mora did this ? That he is 
what you call a crook ? " 


THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 1 63 

“ That will be for you and Mr. Barnes to discover. 
But you forget it was the valet who engaged the car- 
riage.” 

“ Then he is ” 

“ One of us. We will now put it plainer, Mr. Mitchel ; 
let me be perfectly frank with you, and then perhaps you 
will be equally candid with me. Mora learned this morn- 
ing that Mr. Barnes had discovered that he had a place 
in Essex Street, and he determined to prevent him from 
asking too many questions down there. He was shrewd 
enough to ‘ go the long way around,’ as we say, in order 
to be sure that there were no spies after him. He soon 
learned that there was at least one, and so decided to 
send his man on the errand. This fellow came direct to 
our headquarters for assistance, and one of our special 
coachmen was put on the job. I happened to be at the 
rooms at the time, and I got enough out of the valet to 
feel assured that you would turn up somewhere near 
the Essex Street house. You see I judged that you 
would strike the scent by using your head, rather than 
by following Mora about, as Mr. Barnes did. Now it 
happened that Slippery Sam has been stopping at this 
same house, and remembering the intimacy which has 
sprung up between you two, I decided to be on hand 
personally, and at the same time I took the precaution 
to give special instructions to the coachman as to the 
course to pursue in case Sam should follow him. So 
you see, what seems such omniscience and omnipresence 


164 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


on my part, is merely the result of confederation and 
system.” 

“ Does Mora know the true character of his valet ? ” 

“ I shall leave you to ask him. You know the adage, 

4 Like master, like man.’ When an employer has pecu- 
liar work to be done, he needs to hire a suitable man.” 

“ Then you believe that Sam abandoned the pursuit ? ” 

“ It is more than belief. But now it is your turn to 
explain your position. I wish to know just what you are 
doing in this business.” 

“ I agreed to assist Mr. Barnes, and I am doing so.” 

“ You are undertaking more, Mr. Mitchel. Don’t class 
me with your detective friend. You may hoodwink him, 
but I see farther than he does. You take very little in- 
terest in this Mora case.” 

“You are mistaken. I take the keenest sort of in- 
terest in solving this mystery.” 

“True in a measure. But you care nothing for the 
mere discovery of the murderer. That is Mr. Barnes’s 
business, but it is not yours. You are a gentleman.” 

“ I thank you for your good opinion, but since you do 
not accept my statement, perhaps you can guess what 
actuates me in this affair.” 

“ I could, but I choose to have you tell me instead. 
Barnes suspects Mora, and with dogged persistency he 
kept a watch on his man. There is your true detective 
instinct, and it pays in the majority of cases. You 
either did not suspect him, or you were indifferent on 




THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 165 

the point of his guilt. You went after the woman. 
Why ? ” 

“ I followed the French system, ‘ seek the woman.’ I 
was sure that Mora would turn up in Essex Street. I 
merely took the shortest road to the scene of action. 
That is all.” 

“Yes. Perhaps you are telling the truth. But you 
do not tell all of the truth. Listen ! You went into the 
house and searched the rooms of both the woman and 
Mora. Since then you have taken more interest in the 
woman. That is what I wish to have explained.” 

Mr. Mitchel thought he saw an opportunity, and has- 
tened to take advantage of it. He took the photograph 
from his pocket, and handed it to his companion, re- 
marking : 

“ I found that in Mora’s room. That is why I am 
now anxious to find the woman.” 

“ I don’t follow you. Make it plainer.” 

He had taken the photograph, and his eyes now gazed 
upon it admiringly, but Mr. Mitchel was not able to 
judge from his countenance whether or not the original 
was known to him. But next he played his trump 
card. 

“That photograph, Preacher Jim,” said he, with deep 
meaning in his tones, “ is the likeness of the mother of 
the infant found in the graveyard.” 

Preacher Jim started perceptibly, and looked at Mr. 
Mitchel in undisguised amazement. 


1 66 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

“How do you make that out?” he asked, with emo- 
tion, which was evident though suppressed. 

“ By using my brains, Preacher Jim. Your own pet 
method, I believe.” By . this time the man had fully 
recovered his self-control, and handing back the photo- 
graph he laughed boisterously. 

“ Exceptional brains you must have. That is the 
picture of little Lily of the Valley, as she calls herself. 
A concert singer in the Bowery saloons. And you say 
she is that baby’s mother. Why, can’t you see by that 
picture that she is only a baby herself ? ” 

“ I imagine that she might have been about fourteen 
when this was taken, but how do I know her present 
age?” 

“Well, I ’ll tell you. She ’s a little over sixteen. So 
you see she is still a child.” 

“ My own mother married at fifteen,” replied Mr. 
Mitchel, “ so the girl’s youthfulness cannot set aside my 
opinion. I am sure that I am right. Moreover, I am 
convinced that Mora is the father.” 

“What? Mora the father?” Preacher Jim laughed 
long and loudly. “ I say, Mr. Mitchel, you are ruining 
your reputation in my mind. I thought you had more 
brains. Because you find the girl’s picture in Mora’s 
rooms, you jump to that queer conclusion. Let me 
show you how silly you are. Look here.” He drew 
from his coat pocket a leather wallet, from which he 
took out a photograph, which also was a likeness of the 


THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 1 67 

girl, in this instance in dancing costume. “ There now,” 
he continued, “ perhaps you ’ll change off, and say I ’m 
the father.” 

“ Where did you get this ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, ignor- 
ing the sarcastic tones of the criminal. 

“We won’t have to go far. Come across the street.” 

Mr. Mitchel followed him until they stood before a 
stationery store, where, in the window, there were ex- 
posed for sale numerous pictures of actresses, among 
which were several on which was printed, “ The Lily of 
the Valley ” and a placard announced that they could be 
bought for twenty-five cents each. 

“ There you are,” said Preacher Jim. “ Buy one and 
join the army of her admirers. Are you satisfied ? ” 

“ Quite satisfied,” said Mr. Mitchel, in peculiar tones, 
which caused the criminal to eye him keenly. But he 
was gazing into the face of a human sphinx, and learned 
nothing. 

“ But look here,” said Preacher Jim, “ if you were so 
interested in this girl, why did you get Sam to follow 
the other woman ? ” 

“ The other woman ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, with singu- 
lar emphasis on the second word. 

“ Yes, the other woman. Mrs. Morton.” Then after 
a pause, as though a new idea had occurred to him. 
“ Oh, come now ! You don’t actually think that Mrs. 
Morton and Lilian Vale are one and the same ?” 


“ What if I do think so ? ” 


1 68 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Well, that ’s your privilege of course. Think as you 
like. It is no business of mine. But look here ! To 
return to the main point. You are studying crime, are 
you not ? Not as a detective, but as a criminologist ? 
You would like to unearth the causes which lead to the 
existence of criminals, would you not ? ” 

“ You are by no means a fool,” said Mr. Mitchel. 
“ You have guessed my main interest in the work in 
hand. You might assist me very much in my studies if 
you chose.” 

“ In what manner ? ” 

“You claim to be a born criminal, and, to use a 
naturalist’s term, I find you a most interesting specimen. 
I would very much like to meet the mother of a born 
criminal ” 

“You are not lacking in audacity, to make such a 
request. You wish me to introduce you to my mother ? ” 

“ I should esteem it as a special favor, and — ” here 
he paused, and then continued impressively — “ you will 
never regret having allowed me to meet her.” 

Preacher Jim looked into Mr. Mitchel’s face search- 
ingly, as though delving into the deepest recesses of his 
brain, seeking the true reading of his character. Pres- 
ently he extended his hand, saying : 

“ Will you shake hands on that ? ” Mr. Mitchel 
promptly acquiesced and the criminal continued. “ I 
believe you are as honest as you are bold. I will trust 
you. I will grant your request,” 


THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 169 

They walked along in silence, both men too engrossed 
in thought to interrupt the working of their brains by 
uttering words. Preacher Jim led the way to Mulberry 
Street, stopping a block above what was for so long a 
time known as “ The Bend.” 

He stood before a narrow, dirty alley, which led to a 
rear tenement. Once more he addressed Mr. Mitchel. 

“ I seem to be in a queer mood. Why I have brought you 
here, passes my own comprehension. It is a very stupid 
thing, but I agreed to do it, and I never break my word. 
Bear that in mind. For good or ill, a promise from 
Preacher Jim is final and binding. And I promise you 
now, that if ever you use against me or mine any knowl- 
edge obtained here, where my poor old mother lives, 
your life will pay the forfeit. If the terms do. not suit 
you, I will only be too glad to bid you good day.” 

“ I will go in with you. Your words do not alarm 
me.” 

“ They need not, unless you play the traitor.” 

Mulberry Street is one of the sights of the great 
metropolis, for many blocks being within a stone’s 
throw of Broadway, the great business artery of the 
city. Millions upon millions’ worth of property are piled 
in the stores, banks, and warerooms that line Broadway, 
the most important thoroughfare on the American con- 
tinent. It is therefore natural that its sidewalks should 
be crowded. Yet, though Mulberry Street is almost as 
poor, as Broadway is rich, the crowds are denser. And 


170 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

it is not an idle throng either, for on all sides are evi- 
dences of thrift. All the stores are occupied ; every 
hallway is converted into a diminutive shop ; and there 
are stands at the curb, and even in the middle of the 
street, loaded with wares, which the pedlars have to offer. 
The whole district being thus converted into a market- 
place, the purchasers and passersby are forced to thread 
their way, now on the sidewalk, but oftenest on the 
asphalt driveway, over which latter, by the bye, there is 
never a passageway for horse and wagon. 

Yet, except for a very occasional family row, the scene 
is almost invariably orderly. The whole is picturesque 
from the very quaintness of the surroundings. It all 
seems so foreign to an American city, not even the 
English language being heard as one walks by. I say 
the scene is picturesque, but alas ! not the women. 
Raphael and Correggio have taught us how beautiful the 
daughters of Italy may be, but they could not have 
found their models in such a locality, where children of 
fourteen are attired like elderly women, and look older 
than they are, with their colorless cheeks, and sunken 
eyes, which seek the pavement because of the stoop in 
their backs, from carrying burdens. How could beauty 
thrive here ? 

Mr. Mitchel took in the general scene at a glance, as 
he turned into the alley, leaving the kaleidoscopic array 
of color behind him, and passing into the gloom beyond, 
where all seemed colorless. 


THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 171 


“ Be careful where you walk,” came a warning from 
Preacher Jim, just in time to prevent Mr. Mitchel from 
treading upon an infant, crawling along towards the 
street, in a state of nudity which would have attracted 
attention anywhere but in this neighborhood, where 
children who are nearly full grown are often clothed 
with but a single garment. 

At the end of the alley, was a court, so called by cour- 
tesy, being in truth but little wider than the alley itself. 
At the back, rose up gauntly, between the main houses 
and the rising sun, a tall structure, erected in compara- 
tively recent times, that the greedy owner of the ground, 
might squeeze a few more dollars from the pockets of 
the outcasts, whose only hope of happiness in this great 
“ New Land,” is to herd with those who can at least 
comprehend their own tongue. What matter, if this 
back tenement shut off both light and air from the 
twenty or thirty families living in the front houses ? If 
you should speak to the landlord about it, he would 
reply : 

“ I do not compel them to remain. If they do not 
like it, let them move. This is a free country.” 

A free country ! Ay, truly ! Very free, when a price 
is put upon the very air ! 

An iron stairway running up the outside of the back 
tenement did double service ; serving both as entrance 
way for the lodgers, and as a fire-escape. An economic 
method of obeying the law which demands that these 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


172 

poor devils shall at least not be burned alive. And 
since the fire-escape must be placed on the outside, why 
waste valuable, that is to say rentable, space, by erecting 
stairways within ? 

Mr. Mitchel followed Preacher Jim up to the third 
floor, where they rested a moment on the landing, while 
awaiting some response from a loud knocking upon the 
door. 

“ The old woman keeps her latch on, to keep out 
intrusive visitors,” explained Preacher Jim, as he 
repeated his summons. 

But after some time, there being still no sound from 
within, he turned the knob ; to his surprise the door 
yielded, and he led the way in. 

“ She ’s out I guess,” he said, “ or the door would n’t 
be open. She ’s got no way to lock it on the outside. 
The lock ’s broken. It ’s dark enough in here, is n’t 
it?” 

It was dark enough, though Mr. Mitchel observed 
that the one window in the room was obscured by 
neither blind, shutter, nor shade. No light entered, 
because there was no light that could find a way in. 

“ I ’ll strike a light,” said the criminal. “ Have you a 
match?” Mr. Mitchel handed him his match safe, and 
in a few minutes, a smoky lamp was dimly illuminating 
the room. 

“What have we here?” exclaimed Mr. Mitchel, as 
soon as he could make out anything in the room. Then 


THE MOTHER OF A BORN CRIMINAL. 1 73 

advancing, he leaned down and examined the object 
which had attracted his attention. 

“ Why, it is a woman ! ” he cried. “ And she is hurt ! 
There is blood here ! ” 

“Blood!” cried Preacher Jim, aroused to a sudden 
state of excitement which astonished Mr. Mitchel. He 
brought the lamp, and stooping down turned the woman 
over, so that the dim light fell upon her face. Then 
with the enraged cry of a wild beast he jumped up, 
crying : 

“ It is my mother ! My mother ! She has been mur- 
dered ! Murdered, I tell you ! I will kill the man who 
did this. Do you hear ? I will kill him ! I will tear his 
heart out with these hands while it is yet warm ! You 
think I could not, do you ? ” 

He leaned over Mr. Mitchel menacingly, his eyes 
ablaze with fury, and it seemed that but a move, a word 
might make him vent his rage at once in some bloody 
act. But much of the danger was not even apprehended 
by Mr. Mitchel, for he was looking down, examining the 
woman, trying to find whether the beating of her heart 
had ceased. At this juncture, perhaps just in time to 
save himself from the effects of the temporary mania 
into which his companion had been plunged by the 
sight of his mother’s blood, he looked up and said : 

“ She is not dead. Her heart beats ! ” 

Preacher Jim was instantly transformed. He set down 
his lamp and dropped to the floor, where on his knees 


174 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


he hastily felt for the heart’s beating, and then placed 
his ear close, to hear its throb, meanwhile speaking 
hysterically. 

“ Not dead ! Thank God ! Let me see ! Let me 
see ! You might be lying to me ! Where is the heart ? 
There, I have it ! I have it ! Yes, yes, it is beating. 
Let me listen ! Sh-h-h-h ! Yes, I hear it ! She ’s 
alive ! Alive ! We are in time ! But that blood ? 

Where does it come from ? She is bleeding to death, 

man, don’t you see ! She is bleeding to death ! It is 
dreadful to see your mother bleeding like that. What 
can we do ? ” 

“ She has fallen and struck her head,” said Mr. Mit- 
chel. “ She has lost a great deal of blood and has 

fainted. That is all, I think. The wound is not bad, 

but it may need a few stitches. You go for a doctor, 
and I will take care of her while you are away. I have 
had some experience with wounds, and I promise you 
that your mother will be alive when you return. Hurry 
now and bring a doctor.” 

“A doctor? Yes, you are right. I will bring one. 
You say you can keep her alive until I return ? That is 
your promise. Very good. I will hold you to it. 
Strictly, mind. If she dies I will hold you to account, 
and then — well — then you will know what it means to 
have Preacher Jim after you ! ” 

With a wild laugh he rushed from the room, and 
could be heard going down the stairway in leaps. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. 

A FTER Preacher Jim’s departure, Mr. Mitchel bent 
down beside the woman, and was about to lift 
her up, with the intention of placing her upon 
the rude cot which served as a bed, when she moved 
feebly, groaned, and then called in low tones for 
water. He found some in a pitcher which boasted 
neither handle nor spout, and filled a tin cup which 
stood on a shelf. Raising the woman gently he placed 
the cup to her lips, and she swallowed a little water, 
which seemed to revive her, for she stretched out her 
hands and cried : 

“ Where am I ? Where am I ? ” 

“ In your own home,” replied Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Why is it so dark ? Why don’t you light the lamp ? ” 
“ The lamp is lighted. See ! It is on the table.” 

“ Then it ’s true ! It ’s true ! It all comes back to 
me.” With these words she fell back, moaning and 
groaning, and it was some time before she could be 
made to speak again. 

“ What is true ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. “ What has 
happened to you ? ” 


i75 


176 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ I Tl tell you ! I T1 tell you. Only help me up 
first.” 

Mr. Mitchel assisted her to rise, but she uttered a 
^ wild shriek of pain, which made him fear that she had 
suffered some internal injury, and therefore he quickly 
carried her over to the cot, and placed her in a recum- 
bent position, that she might be at ease if possible. 
She rolled over and lay groaning for some minutes, but 
soon grew quiet again, and then asked for some more 
water. 

“ And just put a drop of whiskey in it,” she added. 
“ It braces me up when I feels bad. It ’s in the brown 
bottle.” 

The bottle was easily found on the shelf, and the 
draught did indeed add to her strength, for she would 
have risen again had not Mr. Mitchel prevented her. 

“You must lie still, or the pain will come again,” said 
he. 

“ Oh, yes ! I forgot ! ” She was silent for a moment, 
then added wearily, “ It don’t matter. I ’m dying any- 
way, so what ’s the odds.” 

“You are not going to die, my good woman,” said 
Mr. Mitchel. “You must not have such notions. But 
tell me what happened to you ? ” 

“ I was up-stairs to see a neighbor, and coming down, 
I went blind all of a sudden ” 

“ You went blind ? ” 

“Yes ! My eyes have been bad for a long time, and 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. I yj 

the sight just went from me. I guess it ain’t coming 
back neither, for I ’m blind now. But it won’t matter 
for a day or two, if I live as long as that, which ain’t 
- likely.” 

“ It is dreadful, of course, to lose one’s sight, but why 
do you say that you are dying ? ” 

“ Because I am. That ’s why. When I lost my sight, 
I staggered like, and then I fell down the stairs, to the 
landing outside my own door. I managed to crawl in, 
but then the blood choked me, and I fainted, I guess.” 

“ Why, what are you saying ? How could the blood 
from your head choke you ? ” 

“Yes, I know my head’s cut too, but that ain’t the 
main trouble. Something ’s broken inside of me, and a 
lot of blood came up into my mouth, and that ’s what 
choked me.” 

“ Some small vessel, perhaps,” said Mr. Mitchel re- 
assuringly. “ It emptied itself, and then the hemorrhage 
ceased. It has not come on again, which is a favorable 
symptom. We have sent for a doctor, and he will take 
proper care of you. Meanwhile, take some more whis- 
key. It will sustain you until he reaches here.” 

“ I ’ll take the whiskey, because I like it, more ’s the 
pity. But it ’s not the doctor I want ; it ’s a priest.” 

“ Why do you want a priest ? ” 

“ Because I have something on my mind that must be 
told before I die. So bring a priest.” 

Mr. Mitchel could not resist the temptation to say : 

12 


i;3 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ If you have anything to tell, confide it to me.” 

“ Are you a priest ? ” 

“ No ! But I am your son’s friend.” 

“ Then you are a crook, and no crook is ever a true 
friend.” 

“You are wrong. . I am not a crook, I am a gentleman.” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! ” she laughed. “ There are gentlemen 
crooks, and crooked gentlemen. If I could only see 
your face, I could tell. You couldn’t fool old Mag. 
Wait ! Give me your hands. So ! ” She took his prof- 
fered hand and felt it with both of hers, and then added : 
“ As fine as silk. You ’re gentleman born anyway. I ’ll 
trust you. I must tell somebody, for I doubt if I ’ll live 
through the night. Besides, if Matthew came back, he ’d 
stop me.” 

“ Who is Matthew ? ” 

“ My son.” 

“ But is not his name Jim? Preacher Jim.” 

“ Yes ! You are right. Jim, of course. I was think- 
ing of something else. Now give me some more whiskey, 
and I ’ll tell you the story.” 

“Here it is. Take some from time to time. I sup- 
pose you are used to it ? ” 

“ Used to it ? Why I ’ve drunk enough in my time to 
swim in. And why not ? When a good girl goes to the 
bad, she must either drown herself or her conscience. 
That ’s nature.” 

“ Then you mean that such was your misfortune ? ” 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. 1 79 


‘‘You wait now ! Don’t hurry me. I’ll tell it best 
my own way. You ’ll see why I tell you when you ’ve 
heard all. I was born in New England, no matter just 
where. It was on a farm, and my people were strict 
Puritans. Too strict, maybe ; leastways it proved so in 
my case. I was just wild after the boys, in an innocent 
sort of way, you know. While a child I wanted to play 
with them ; when I grew to be a girl, I wanted a sweet- 
heart ; and when I came to be a woman, I longed for 
some one to love me. I wanted a lover like the men I 
had read about in books, the novels, that I had to steal 
out of the book-case, and read in the hay loft in the 
barn. For all that sort of thing, boys, sweethearts, 
lovers, and novels, my people kept from me as far as 
they could. So what wonder when I met a handsome city 
chap one day in the woods, that I found it easy to 
answer him when he spoke to me ? What wonder that 
when I heard his smooth, soft talk, I was charmed ? 
How easy it was for a simple country girl like me to be 
fooled by the sort of polished scamp that he was ? He 
made me promise to meet him again the next day, and I 
hardly slept that night for wishing that the sun would 
rise again. But this part of the story is awfully old. 
What ’s the use of going over it again ? The days went 
by, and the summer flew past ! The nuts came, and the 
leaves turned, and at last my lover went away back to 
that great place, the city. Then my dream ended sud- 
denly, and I prayed to God that my sin might not find 


8o 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


me out. That whatever I was in reality, I might still be 
able to pass among my people as the innocent Puritan 
maiden that they all thought me. The preachers tell us 
that our prayers will be heard in heaven, and answered ; 
but I guess that the prayers of the sinners are not 
recorded. At any rate, mine were either unheard or un- 
heeded. And so, one dreadful night, I left my home 
and my people, and followed my lover to the great 
metropolis, to lose my own identity, and become first 
Margaret Crane, and finally Old Mag.” 

Mr. Mitchel listened attentively, and observed that, as 
the woman proceeded, the coarseness of both her manner 
and speech disappeared, and she spoke with more re- 
finement. Evidently in the early days, she had been a 
cherished daughter, and the present roughnesses were 
but as scratches on a jewel. In thinking of her youth 
she returned to her old manner of speech. As she 
paused at this point, he gave her more to drink, and 
presently she resumed : 

“ There in the country I had thought that my lover 
was a paragon, a very hero. I believed all the boasting 
stories that he told me, and made a God of him in my 
heart. When I found him in the city, at first he passed 
me by as though he did not know me, and then suddenly 
changing his mind, came up to me, and pretended that 
he had not recognized me. He took me to a fine house, 
and gave me fine clothes. And he made me promises : 
all the promises that such men usually make to such 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. l8l 

girls. None of. these were kept. Not even the simple 
one of providing me with maintenance, for he soon tired 
of his pretty country girl, and left me to care for myself 
as best I might. But I did not begin this, to talk about 
myself. What wrong I did to myself, I have suffered 
for. I have suffered so much that I have no fear of 
punishment hereafter. If there is a God, he will have 
pity, for he must be just. If there is no God, then death 
is the common end of all, saint and sinner alike. But 
the wrong that I did to my child. That is the great 
thing to think of now, as I have thought of it these many 
years.” 

“ And what was that ? ” 

“ What greater wrong can woman do to man, than to 
bring him into the w^orld, without a name ? Ah ! You 
can think of none ? Well, let me tell you that there is a 
greater, deeper, wrong than even that. It is to bequeath 
to him the heritage of sin and crime ! That I have 
done ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel now found the story increasing in interest. 
Preacher Jim was a study which had attracted him more 
than he would have believed possible. Now that he was 
to be enlightened as to the man’s heredity, he was 
doubly attentive, and hoped that the woman’s strength 
would hold out to the end of her narrative. 

“ The sin is handed down to him from both of his 
parents, for in a case like this, the woman must be culpa- 
ble as well as the man, though Heaven knows that if 


1 82 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

innocence and ignorance can ever be a good plea, then 
I might hold myself guiltless. The crime is from his 
father, who was a beast. Remember what I tell you, 
and mark it as the truth. He was a beast. A cruel, 
selfish beast/’ 

“ In what way did you learn this ? Was he brutal in 
his treatment of you ? Did he offer you violence ?” 

“ He would have, had he dared, but he was a coward 
and afraid to rouse me too far. Some men bluntly tell 
a woman — ‘ I have grown tired of you. All is over 
between us. Good bye.’ These are brutes, but they are 
not cowards. My lover was a cunning schemer, and he 
plotted to make me so disgusted with him, that I should 
myself sever our acquaintance. In this he succeeded. 
He told me tales, that made me look upon him with 
loathing, so that I grew to hate myself for having loved 
him. Was not that the cruelty of a demon ?” 

“ Tell me something of these dreadful tales, if you can 
remember any ? ” 

“ Remember any ? I have forgotten none. They 
have been the spectres of my sleepless nights, and the 
terrors of my drunken sleep, a thousand times. He 
told me how he loved to see suffering. How he would 
visit slaughter pens, to hear the poor animals shriek in 
death ; he claimed that once he had chopped a boy’s 
finger off with a hatchet, for the fun of seeing it jump 
from the force of the blow. Many, many other stories 
of the kind, I was forced to hear, but there is one, which 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. 1 83 

I have lived over in hundreds of dreadful dreams. 
There was once a murder trial which was the great sen- 
sation of the time. He was then only twelve years of 
age. Bear that in mind. He read all the accounts of 
the trial, and gloated over the horrible details. The 
man was convicted and hanged, and he tried to see the 
execution, but in that he was thwarted. But his lust for 
blood was bound to be appeased. One day, he sum- 
moned some schoolmates, all younger than himself, and 
took them down into the cellar of his house, locking the 
door, that none might leave. Here he showed them 
a poor little harmless monkey, which he charged with 
having killed its mate. Then he proclaimed himself 
judge, appointed a boy to be District Attorney, and 
another to be the lawyer for the monkey. The others 
were formed into a jury. The boys looking upon the 
proceeding as sport, entered into the spirit of the play, 
and a form of trial was enacted, the verdict being 
against the poor animal. The judge immediately 
sentenced it to be hanged. At this the boys thought 
that the play was over, and wished to leave the cellar, 
but this cruel devil, refused to open the door for them, 
and he being larger and stronger than the others, they 
were all afraid to insist, but huddled together with 
affrighted faces looking on, at what followed. Next, 
this self-appointed judge declared himself to be the 
sheriff, and forthwith proceeded with the execution of 
the sentence.” 


1 84 the crime of the century. 

“ You do not mean ” cried Mr. Mitchel, and then 

stopped, in horror at the thought. 

“Yes! He hanged that poor little defenceless 
monkey. Hanged that animal, which so resembled a 
human being. Hanged it in sport, and laughed at its 
death struggles. And that boy grew to be a man, and 
that man, God pity me, was the father of my child.” 

She had risen up on her elbow as she reached the 
climax of her tale, and spoke with a bitterness, which 
told of the torture that this one thought had been to her 
for so many years. Now she fell back exhausted, and 
then gave a low cry of pain, as blood gushed forth from 
her mouth. Mr. Mitchel hastily washed this away, and 
was glad to see that no more followed the first flow. He 
poured out some whiskey, this time not mixing it with 
water, and made her swallow it. She lay still for some 
time, gazing stolidly up, with her sightless eyes, but pres- 
ently made a sign that she wished to speak again. Mr. 
Mitchel tried to dissuade her, fearing a fatal result if 
she should further exert herself, but she insisted upon 
having her will, so he stooped over her, bidding her to 
speak low, that she might not tire herself unnecessarily. 

“ All right,” she said, almost in a whisper. “ I ’ll go 
easy. But I ain’t finished yet. You said you was Jim’s 
friend. Well, I ’m dreadful afraid for him.” She had 
now relapsed into her coarser manner of speech. 

“ Why need you fear for him ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 
“ Jim can take care of himself.” 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. 


185 


“ Yes ! Jim ’s clever, and it ’ll be a fly cop as ’ll take 
him. But they all get pinched some day. I should n’t 
mind if it was only for a burglary, or something like that. 
But I think of that monkey, and when I dream of it, 
often the monkey changes, and it ’s Jim as is hanging \ 
there. My Jim ! My own boy, hanging by the neck ! 
Oh ! No ! No ! God in heaven, if there is one, hear a 
poor dying woman’s prayer, and don’t let my boy come 
to that ! Save him ! Save him ! ” 

“ Come ! Come ! This is merely a nightmare ! You 
have nothing of that sort to fear. Why should you think 
of such a dreadful thing ? ” 

“ Ah ! I ’ve thought of it, and thought of it, many ’s 
the long night through. I ’ve worked it all out, so natural 
that sometimes I think it ’s fate, and must come true.” 

“ But why ? ” 

“ Listen ! Suppose Jim was ever to find out who his 
father is ? He ’s alive yet, and lives in this town. I 
know, because I seen him myself not a month ago. He ’s 
the same beast he always was, too, ’cause I seen him 
look about sly like, and when he thought nobody was 
watching, he kicked a little child that was lying on the 
pavement, and when it screamed, he laughed and walked 
away. Now suppose my Jim had seen that, and had 
known the man for his father ? Do you know what ? 
Jim would have been at his throat like a tiger, and would 
have strangled him to death. Would n’t it be awful for 
my Jim to hang, for killing a beast like his father ? ” 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


1 86 

“ Ah, but he does not know who his father is, does 
he?” 

“ Now we come to it. Now you ’ll see why I ’ve told 
you all this yarn. Jim don’t know, now. Leastways 
I ’ve never told him. But there ’s papers as would tell 
him, if he found them after I ’m gone. Papers I ought to 
have burnt long ago, but I never had the heart. I ’ve 
lit a fire special to do it, then I would think I ’d just read 
them over once more, and in the end I ’d tie them up 
and put them away again.” 

“ And where are these papers ? ” 

“ I ’ll tell you. I want you to take them, to keep them 
away from Jim, and yet to keep them for Jim, too.” 

“ How do you mean, for Jim ? ” 

“ Why, don’t you see, if the worst come to worst, why 
you could, maybe, show them papers to the judge, and 
tell him as how Jim could n’t help it. That he was a 
born criminal, and that the very man he killed brought 
i him into the world with the brand of Cain on him. That 
would count, would n’t it ? ” It ought to, don’t you 
think ? No judge would have the heart to hang my Jim 
after that, would he ? No ! The papers ’ll save him. 
The papers ’ll save him. You take the papers. There 
in that old box on the shelf there. Jim thinks it ’s my 
work-box, ’cause there ’s needles and thread on top. But 
the papers is on the bottom all right. You find them, 
don’t you ? You ’ve got them all right? You ’ll keep 
them to save Jim with, won’t you ? I’m dying, and you 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. 1 87 

would n’t betray an old woman like me, would you ? 
You ’ll — look — out — for Jim ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel had gone to the shelf and opened the box, 
and as she heard him rummaging through the miscellane- 
ous lot of trash, her anxiety had grown, so that she had 
raised herself up in bed, and, forgetful of her blindness, 
was gazing towards him, while her words flowed fast and 
ferverishly, until at last she was forced to stop because of 
another gush of blood from her mouth. Mr. Mitchel had 
just found the papers, when he heard her groan as she 
sank back on the cot. One glance showed him that she 
was now in a desperate condition, and thrusting the packet 
into his breast pocket, he hastened to her assistance. 

At this opportune moment the door burst open and 
Preacher Jim rushed in, followed by the doctor. 

“ Is she alive ? ” cried Preacher Jim, rushing up and 
falling to his knees besides his mother. “ My God, 
where does all that blood come from ? ” 

“ She has been doing very well, until just a moment 
ago,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ when this hemorrhage came 
on.” Then rising, he addressed the doctor. “ She tells 
me, doctor, that she became suddenly blind, and fell on 
the stairs. She thinks she has injured herself internally, 
and stated that she had a flow of blood from the mouth 
before her son and myself came in. I fear this is a seri- 
ous case.” 

“ I will examine and see,” said the doctor. “ But first 
we must stop this blood.” 


1 88 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


He prepared some medicine, which he poured into the 
woman’s mouth, and in a few minutes she was compara- 
tively at ease again, the hemorrhage having been con- 
trolled. Then the doctor proceeded to make a thorough 
examination. 

“ I am afraid that a rib is broken,” said he ; “ and that 
it either impinges on the lung, or else that there is a rup- 
tured vessel. My advice is that she be removed to the 
hospital as soon as possible.” 

“ If you would prefer,” said Mr. Mitchel, speaking to 
Preacher Jim, who was now standing by, gazing at his 
mother with jaws firmly set, and all the muscles of his 
body at a tension, “ I will have your mother taken to my 
house, where no expense shall be spared in the endeavor 
to save her life. What do you say ? ’ 

Preacher Jim made no reply, but the doctor said : 

“ The hospital will be infinitely the best place for her. 
If you choose to pay for her attendance, why, of course, 
you may do so. But charity patients are treated with 
the same care and skill, at our institution, as are the 
wealthiest.” 

“ I am sure of it, doctor,” said Mr. Mitchel, cour- 
teously. “ I was merely anxious to consult the son’s 
wishes in the matter. What do you say, Jim ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel touched Preacher Jim on the arm 
before he appeared to notice. Then he growled 
out : 

“ What does it matter where she dies ? She ’s dying, 


THE STORY OF MARGARET CRANE. 1 89 

that is plain enough. Do as you like, only make her 
comfortable. That is all that I ask.” 

With these words, he turned and went to the window, 
where he stood staring out, until the ambulance had been 
summoned, and the men were carrying the woman down 
the steep stairway as tenderly as possible. As Mr. 
Mitchel was about to follow, he turned and spoke to 
Preacher Jim. 

“ Will you not come with us ? ” said he. 

“Yes!” he replied, then clutching Mr. Mitchel’s 
sleeve, he detained him a moment. “You were born 
under a lucky star, Mr. Mitchel. You promised that my 
mother would be alive on my return. I see now that 
she might have died through no fault of yours. Had it 
been so, I think that one of my fits would have come 
upon me, and then — then your life would have been the 
forfeit, that 's all. I am glad you were able to keep 
your promise. Glad for your sake, and my own.” 

“ I made you another promise, which I will also keep. 
You shall never regret having left me with your mother. 
I am your friend ! ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 

W HEN Mr. Mitchel reached his own home on 
that evening it was nine o’clock, and he was 
surprised to find Slippery Sam awaiting him. 
The fellow was sitting patiently in the hall. 

“Why, hullo!” exclaimed Mr. Mitchel, recognizing 
him. “ You here ? I did not expect to see you ? ” 

“ You did n’t expect to see me ? ” 

“ No ! ” 

“ Why not ? Did n’t I give you my word I ’d be 
here ? ” 

“You did, but I supposed you had changed your 
mind since we parted.” 

“ Changed my mind ? Say, what are you givin' me 
anyway ? Changed my mind ? You ’re talkin’ Greek to 
me. Make it easy. I ain’t on. What ’s the reason I 
changed my mind ? ” 

“ Look here, Slippery Sam, you cannot play any 
double game with me, my man. Understand that at 
once.” 

“ Who ’s playin’ double ? Not Slippery Sam. Not on 
your life. That ain’t his sort. Look here, Mr. Mitchel, 

190 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. I9I 

we ’re talkin’ cross. Let me give you my side of it 
straight, and then you give me your’n. I meet you 
quite by chance on Essex Street this mornin’ and you 
hails me. You admit that ? You called me over to you, 
I did n’t intrude on you. Am I right ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Good. Now we ’ll reach it. You mentions to me 
in the most businesslike way that you ’ve got a job on, 
and asks if I ’ve got time to lend a hand. Just as if 
time was n’t my stock in trade, as it were. Of course, 
I admits that I ’ve got time to burn. You says to me, 
says you, confidential like, ‘ Sam, says you, ‘ there ’s 
a woman in that house across the way that I want 
watched.’ Then I answers you, and I says, says I, ‘I’m 
the best dog in the district. I ’ll watch anything and 
run it to earth.’ Then you tell me it ’s worth a hun- 
dred, if I carry out orders, and I make a mental note to 
myself that the money ’s as good as mine. You says to 
me, says you, ‘ Sam,’ you says, ‘ there ’s a woman in 
that house and she ’s likely to change her address to-day. 
When she leaves I want you to track her.’ ‘ To the end 
of the earth,’ says I. ‘Very good,’ says you, ‘there ’s 
a cab around the corner. Take this card and the driver 
will obey your orders. The woman is likely to leave in 
a carriage, and I ’ll give you the signal to follow her. 
You find out where she moves to, and you will earn the 
money, and my gratitude besides.’ ‘ Right you are, 
Mister,’ says I, ‘ I ’ll be at your house at eight o’clock 


192 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


as near as I can manage, and I ’ll be ready for that 
hundred.’ Now, there you are. That ’s what passed 
between us, and you could cross-examine me all day, and 
I ’d stick to the story. How does it strike you ?” 

“ Your memory is very accurate,” replied Mr. Mitchel. 
“ But when you agreed to enter my service you did not 
tell me that you were under the necessity of obeying the 
orders of others, or I would have engaged a different 
agent. That is what I mean by double dealing.” 

“ Come again, Mister. I don’t twig you yet. What 
orders do you mean ? ” 

“You need not play the innocent with me. I know 
what happened since you left me.” 

“ Oh, you do ! You ’re a bird, you are ! Did you 
soar up into the sky and keep an eye on yours truly ? ” 

“ Come, no insolence, or I will kick you out into the 
street.” 

“No offense meant, on my honor. I ’m only curious 
as to how you could know what happened after we 
parted. You did n’t follow me, that ’s sure.” 

“ Your cab was stopped at the Bowery by the driver of 
the carriage which you were following, and he left his 
vehicle to speak to you. You recognized him as a crook, 
and he informed you that you were to give up tracking 
him, which order you obeyed.” 

“ Well, on my life, you ’re a wonder, and no mistake. 
You ’ve got that as straight as a die, all but the last deal. 
How did you get on ? ” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 


193 


“ That is immaterial. What do you mean when you 
say that I am right ‘ all but the last deal.’ ” 

“ I mean, Mr. Mitchel, that I did n’t obey that order. 
I did n’t drop' the scent. That ’s what I mean.” 

“ Don’t imagine that you can trifle with me, my man. 
You cannot invent a story which I will accept, and pay 
money for. Before you get that money you must earn it. 
It will not suffice to tell me an address. I must go there 
and find the woman, before I settle with you.” 

“ So, that ’s the new deal is it ? That was n’t on 
the cards this mornin’. I was to give you the address 
to-night, and you was to hand over the long green. But 
now you ’ve got a notion that you can’t afford to trust 
Slippery Sam. You ain’t willing to pay for the ad- 
dress ? ” 

“ Not after what has occurred. I must find the woman 
first.” 

“ There ’s no altering that I suppose ? ” 

“ No ! That is the best I will do.” 

“You ’re wrong, Mister. You ’ll do better than that. 
A good deal better. I ’ve acted on the level with you. 
I ’ve risked my neck to keep my word with you. I got 
word to drop the job, and I chose to go ahead. I made 
believe go down town, and I doubled on my tracks, and 
kept that carriage in sight till I saw the woman get out. 
I dogged her to where she is, and where I can lay my 
hands on her any minute. That ’s what I done, to keep 
my word, but now you say my word ain’t good enough. 

*3 


i 9 4 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


All right. That ’s your privilege, but it ’s a jar on my 
feelin’s and when my feelin’s get hurt, I ’m a hard man 
to make terms with.” 

“ Oh, come to the point ! I am tired and wish to 
go to bed. What are you driving at ? ” 

“ Well, to put it in a few words, and make it plain, you 
w r ant to find the girl. Correct. I ’ll be here any time 
to-morrow you name, and I ’ll take you to her. How 
does that strike you ? ” 

“ Be here at ten o’clock to-morrow, and take me to 
the woman, and I will hand you a crisp hundred-dollar 
bill.” 

“ Not on your life you won’t. You ’ll pass over two 
crisp hundreds, or I ’ll drop the job.” 

“ Do you think you can bunco me, you fool.” 

“ It ’s not bunco, and I ’m no fool, neither. You made 
the offer, and I carried out the agreement, but now 
you ’ve backed down. That ends the first transaction. 
Now it ’s my turn to make the terms. I ’ve got informa- 
tion that you want. If it ain’t worth two hundred 
to you, why you ’d be a fool to invest. You judge 
for yourself, but there ain’t no compulsion. You 
take it or leave it, and I ain’t sure but I ’m safer if I 
wash my hands of the whole thing. I ’ve gone back on 
my pals for you, and I don’t know who I ’m up against. 
I may be workin’ against some of the small fry, or I may 
be crossin’ one of the most dangerous of the gang. The 
driver would n’t give me the straight tip. So far, I ’m 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 


195 


safe, because I ain’t told you nothin’. If I take you to 
that woman, I may be a dead man in twenty-four hours. 
You don’t know the crowd, like I do.” 

Slippery Sam spoke so earnestly that his words carried 
conviction to Mr. Mitchel’s mind. He saw, now when it 
was too late, that he had made a mistake in mistrusting 
the fellow. Had he not done so, he believed that the 
correct address of the woman would have been supplied 
to him. He decided to conciliate Slippery Sam if 
possible. 

“ Look here, Sam,” said he. “ I am sorry that I 
doubted you, and ” 

“ Your sorrow don’t weigh much, I reckon.” 

“ And I confess that I was wrong,” continued Mr. 
Mitchel, ignoring the interruption. “ But you must 
admit that when I learned what I did from Preacher 

Jim, I ” 

“Preacher Jim ?” cried Slippery Sam, truly alarmed. 
“ So he told you, did he ? He ’s mixed up in this ? He 
sent out the order to head me off, did he ? ” 

When Mr. Mitchel observed the effect that this name 
had upon the man, he bit his lip with vexation at the 
slip which he had made, and hastened to repair if possi- 
ble the damage which had been done. 

“No! No!” he said, “Preacher Jim, merely hap- 
pened to be at the rooms of your Society, when the 
driver was sent out, mi by the merest accident knew 
about it.” 


196 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ I don’t swallow that too quick,” replied Slippery 
Sam. 

“ Let me explain the whole matter to you. This 
woman is supposed to be secretly married to a wealthy 
young man up town. It has just been discovered and 
he hastened to remove her from the house, in order that 
her identity might not be known. It was he who sent 
the carriage to take her away. I suspected that he 
would make this move, and that is why I was there. Do 
you comprehend.” 

“ Then this fellow is a crook ? Otherwise he would 
not go to our place for help ? ” 

“ I am not sure about that, but it was his man who 
went, and Preacher Jim admitted that this servant is a 
crook.” 

“ What is his name ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“You don’t know, and you ’re workin’ on the job? 
That ’s odd.” It was evident that Sam’s suspicions were 
aroused. “Well, then, what’s the name of the main 
guy?” 

“ The what ? ” 

“ The chief ! The master ! The rich young sprig up 
town ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel concluded that circumlocution would be 
useless, so replied frankly. 

“ His name is Matthew Mora.” 

The effect upon Slippery gam was electrical. He 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 19 7 

started back and supported himself against the wall, to 
save himself from falling. 

“ Not young Mora the son of — of — of the old man 
who was mur — that is to say, killed ? ” he stammered. 

“ The same ! ” replied Mr. Mitchel, regarding the 
man closely, astonished at the effect which he had 
produced. 

“ And the woman — the woman you made me follow — 
what was — what was her name?” 

“ Mora went by the name Morton in the Essex Street 
house. So did this woman.’’ 

“ Morton ? Morton ? ” repeated Slippery Sam in a 
dazed way. “ And I was fool enough to follow her — 
against orders, too. Here — I throw up the job. Keep 
your money. Let me out of here. Let me out, quick.” 

But Mr. Mitchel stood between the man and the door, 
and rejoined : 

“ One more question first.” 

“ Well, what is it ? Maybe I ’ll answer, and maybe I ’ll 
not. It all depends, now I see what lay you ’re on. But 
cut it short. I want to get out of this.” 

“ I merely wish to know whether you are living in that 
house in Essex Street ? ” 

“ Yes ! I ’m livin’ there. Now let me pass.” 

“ How long have you lived there ? ” 

“ I ’ve answered all the questions I ’m goin’ to. Let 
me pass ! ” 

He was growing greatly excited, and his face was pale 


198 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


with anger intermingled with fear. Mr. Mitchel, how- 
ever, persisted. 

“ Not until you have answered my question.” 

“ I answered one, and I won’t answer any more. Let 
me by, or I ’ll do you a hurt.” 

He raised his left arm menacingly, but with the celer- 
ity born of the anticipation of some such movement, Mr. 
Mitchel seized the uplifted arm, and tried to hold it. 
But the fellow well deserved his sobriquet, Slippery, for 
with a swift movement he freed himself, and dodging 
under Mr. Mitchel’s arm, was at the door before he 
could be hindered. Mr. Mitchel started towards him, 
when suddenly he drew forth a dangerous looking, long- 
bladed knife, the point of which he presented towards 
his adversary, crying out : 

“ Stand back, or you are a dead man ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel, taken entirely by surprise, hesitated for a 
moment as to what he should do, and in that moment 
Slippery Sam succeeded in turning the knob of the door 
with his other hand, and a second later he had opened 
the door and passed out. Mr. Mitchel sprang after him, 
and went out upon the stoop, only to see the fellow run- 
ning off in the darkness. He stood looking after him, 
realizing the utter uselessness of following, and pondered 
over the strange occurrence. 

What did Slippery Sam know of the Mora murder, and 
of this woman, that he should be so frightened when he 
learned that Mr. Mitchel was interested in the affair ? 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 


I 99 


Mr. Mitchel had just asked himself this question, when 
he thought he heard angry voices, and then a sound as 
of men struggling, coming from the direction in which 
Slippery Sam had run off. He went down a step or two, 
and leaned forward listening, when he was thoroughly 
startled to hear a piercing shriek, followed by the sound 
of feet rapidly receding. Without returning to the house 
for his hat, he ran rapidly down the street, determined 
to investigate the matter. Less than a hundred yards 
away, he came upon the body of a man lying beneath a 
street lamp, his head in a pool of blood. Turning him 
over so that he could see the face, he was horrified to 
discover that it was Slippery Sam. 

As Mr. Mitchel bent over him, he opened his eyes and 
looked up, an expression of deep agony on his counte- 
nance. Evidently he recognized Mr. Mitchel, for he at- 
tempted to speak, but after one or two vain efforts, his 
utterances were completely shut off by a rush of blood 
from his mouth. With one last effort, he placed his 
hand to his side, where he had been stabbed, and then 
rolled over unconscious. Mr. Mitchel noticed a knife 
upon the pavement, and picking it up, was sure that it 
was the same with which the man had threatened him. 
Could this be suicide ? Impossible, for he had plainly 
heard a man running off, besides the sound of a struggle. 

This was destined to be a night of surprises to Mr. 
Mitchel, for just at this critical moment Mr. Barnes came 
up, and stood staring at the scene before him. 


200 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ What is this ? ” asked the detective. 

“ This is murder, I believe,” replied Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Murder ! ” ejaculated Mr. Barnes, not at once com- 
prehending what was meant. 

“Yes. That is Slippery Sam. He is either dying or 
dead. Help me to lift him into my house, and I will ex- 
plain more fully.” 

Between them they carried the bleeding man into the 
house, whereupon Mr. Mitchel requested Mr. Barnes to 
call the nearest physician, and while the detective was 
gone, he did what he could to staunch the blood. Very 
shortly after, Mr. Barnes returned with the doctor, who, 
after examining the wound, declared that nothing could 
be done, and within half an hour the unfortunate crook 
had breathed his last. 

Left alone with Mr. Barnes, Mr. Mitchel related all 
that had passed between himself and Slippery.Sam, and 
expressed the opinion that his death was a misfortune, 
since he evidently knew something of the Mora affair, 
which in time they might have extracted from him. 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Barnes. “ This is perhaps a 
serious obstacle in our path. For one or two things is 
evident. Either this man has been * put out of the way ’ 
because of what he knows, or else he was the guilty man 
himself.” 

“ I do not quite follow that last deduction ? ” said Mr. 
Mitchel. i 

“Oh! I mean,” said Mr, "Barnes, “that either this 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 


201 


murder has, or has not a connection with the Mora 
affair. If it has, then the true murderer may have been 
at work here, disposing of a dangerous witness. If it has 
not, that is to say if this killing is entirely apart from the 
other, then we must consider the man’s fright, when he 
learned of your interest in the Mora murder. I account 
for it by the possible supposition that he was the guilty 
party.” 

“ How readily you abandon your beautiful theories 
about young Mora,” said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Not at all. I only say that this last theory is possi- 
ble. I think it highly improbable. Yet we must not 
overlook the fact that this man had the opportunity to 
commit the crime.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“One theory, advanced I think by Preacher Jim, to 
you, was that the murderer may have been any regular 
criminal, who first stole the will to be used as an instru- 
ment of blackmail, and then killed old Mora to make 
the will operative.” 

“ Yes ! That was one theory. Go on ! ” 

“ Then we know that the murderer wore a certain suit 
of clothes, which was possibly taken from the Essex 
Street house and subsequently returned.” 

“ I follow you ! Proceed ! ” 

“ Well, Slippery Sam, according to Preacher Jim, and 
by his own admission, lived in that Essex Street house. 
Therefore I say he had the opportunity.” 


202 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“Very well argued Mr. Barnes. It is worth look- 
ing into, when we have more time. But our first duty 
is to get this corpse out of my house. I wish you 
would relieve me, by notifying the authorities. Will 
you ? ” 

“ Certainly ! I am at your service and will go at once. 
But before I go, let me tell you something. It was a 
most fortunate impulse which led me towards your house 
to-night.” 

“ Undoubtedly since you may be of great assistance to 
me. But why did you come? ” 

“You left my place this afternoon in company with 
Preacher Jim. Since then I have heard that his old 
mother has met with an accident, breaking a rib, and was 
taken to a hospital.” 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ She died an hour ago.” 

“So, the old woman is dead. Does the son know?” 

“ He was with her, but as soon as she had ceased to 
breathe, he hurriedly left the building, apparently in a 
great state of excitement. When the news reached me, 
I could not quite put aside a feeling of anxiety for you. 
I believe the fellow is half mad, if not entirely so, and I 
thought it would be best for you to know what had 
happened.” 

“ I am much indebted to you for your thoughtfulness. 
But tell me what you meant by saying that it was fortu- 
nate that you came here to-night.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE WILL. 


203 


“ Well, you will admit that it was a strange scene which 
I witnessed. You were standing over a dying man, hold- 
ing a blood-stained knife in your hands.” 

“ A most compromising situation truly. The heroes 
of melodrama have been condemned on similar circum- 
stantial evidence.” 

“ True, and when I went out for the doctor, I passed 
the spot again, and then I found this.” 

He handled a small article to Mr. Mitchel, who exam- 
ined it and then remarked : 

“ My match box, bearing my monogram. You are my 
good angel truly. You remove all evidence against me. 
But, jesting aside, I am glad to have this. It might have 
been difficult to make others believe that I had dropped 
it.” 

“ So I thought, yet see how unreliable, is circumstan- 
tial evidence, at times.” 

“ You are quite right. Yet the mistakes arise not from 
the evidence itself, but from the mis-interpretation 
thereof. One of your own axioms I believe. Now let 
me thank you once more, and will you hurry about the 
removal of this body.” 

Mr. Barnes hastened to comply with this request, and 
Mr. Mitchel, left alone with the corpse, immediately 
began to search it. A moment later he drew forth from 
the pocket of the trousers a long folded envelope, which 
he eagerly carried to the light that he might examine it. 
Taking out the paper which the envelope inclosed, he 


204 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


uttered an ejaculation of pleasure. He held in his hand 
the will of Matthew Mora. 

“ Let me see,” thought Mr. Mitchel, “ we found the 
pocket of the trousers of the plaid suit, stained with 
blood only on one side, from which we argued that 
the murderer might have thrust the will into that 
pocket when leaving the house. I think Mr. Barnes ad- 
vanced the theory, that in such an event, the will would 
be blood-stained on one side. Nothing could be more 
complete. Here is Matthew Mora’s will, with one side, 
as it is folded, quite considerably stained with blood.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

T HE death of Slippery Sam attracted but little atten- 
tion. The newspapers announced that, “ the 
body of a criminal well known to the police, was 
found last night in the street. He was known as Slip- 
pery Sam, and a knife-thrust in the heart seemed to 
indicate murder, but the guilty party has so far eluded 
arrest, and there seems no likelihood of his discovery, as 
the police have absolutely no clue to his identity.” That 
was all, and this meagre paragraph finished out a two 
column article, devoted to the unsavory details of a 
divorce case between parties whose names had been 
previously unknown to the general public. 

To Mr. Mitchel, however, the man’s death meant a 
great deal. He had rather liked Slippery Sam, despite 
his career, for he had found him a genial and rather 
interesting companion. Besides, he believed that Sam 
had really meant to serve him, and had succeeded in 
tracking the woman from Essex Street to her new 
abode, and that in doing this against the orders of his 
associates he had risked his life, which now it seemed he 
had lost, as the penalty of disobedience. Lastly, the 

205 


20 6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


discovery of the will upon his person had almost com- 
pletely overturned his own theories about the Mora 
murder. Therefore, from every point of view, it seemed 
unfortunate that the man had been cut off without a 
chance to make explanations, which might have greatly 
cleared up matters. 

However, Mr. Mitchel was a man of resources, and 
not likely to abandon an investigation because he en- 
countered obstacles. Therefore, on the morning follow- 
ing the day on which Slippery Sam’s body was found, he 
set out to put into execution a plan which he had de- 
cided upon after a night devoted more to reflection than 
to sleep. He was determined, at any cost, to find this 
young actress who called herself “ The Lily of the Valley.” 
Notwithstanding the youthfulness of her appearance, 
judging from her photograph, as well as from the state- 
ments of Preacher Jim, he still considered that the 
embroidery on the infant’s garment, which he had found, 
was a link which undoubtedly connected this girl with 
the mystery which he was endeavoring to solve. 

It was ten o’clock when he arrived at Apollo Hall and 
began a conversation with the barkeeper, who readily re- 
membered him. 

“ Glad to meet you again/’ said that dispenser of 
liquid refreshments. “ By the way, what did you say 
was your name, the other day ? I ’ve got the worst sort 
of memory for names, but on faces I never get left. I 
knew you the minute I saw your shadow on the floor,” 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


207 


Mr. Mitchel knew that he had given no name on his 
former visit, but he was anxious not to lose the fellow’s 
confidence by seeming to hesitate, and therefore he 
replied frankly : 

“ My name is Mitchel. I want to have a talk with you 
confidentially. May I ? ” 

The word “ confidentially ” was very adroitly used, for 
the lower social circles enjoy nothing so much as “ con- 
fidential relations ” with their superiors. A secret shared 
in common forms a tie that breeds equality. The bar- 
keeper lowered his voice in replying, and looked very 
knowing. 

“ Lean forward so the fellow by the window there 
can’t hear you, and fire away,” said he. “ Mum ’s the 
word with me, and I ’m loyal down to the ground. So 
let her go ! ” 

“Well, the fact is, I wish to look up the men who 
swore to Mora’s alibi. I think you told me that you know 
them ? ” 

“ Know ’em ? Well ! If I don’t, nobody does. So 
you ’ve taken my tip, eh ? ” 

“ I don’t exactly follow you ! ” 

“ Oh, I guess you do. I sort of dropped a hint that 
money would buy them chaps, did n’t I ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! I understand now. Yes ! You are right ! 
I have been thinking over your words, and I have come 
to the conclusion that the alibi was pre-arranged. You 
see Mora had no chance to see these men after the 


208 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


murder was discovered, so I guess that he taught them 
their parts beforehand.” 

“ Say ! You told me the other day that you ain’t no 
detective. But I swear you ought to be. You ’re fly, 
you are. You twig the racket dead to rights.” 

“ Thank you. Now the point is just this. A man 
who will lie for money, will also tell the truth for 
cash.” 

“ Right you are, if there ’s enough in it to tempt him. 
I see your game.” 

“ Now I think I told you that I am connected with 
the press ? Well, my paper is determined to go to the 
bottom of this affair, and they don’t mind what it cos?s 
to get the true story. What I want you to do, is to find 
one of these men, and give me a chance to pump him. 
If I should succeed, I would n’t be surprised if there 
might be a fifty-dollar bill in it for you up at the 
office.” - 

“ Oh, I ’ll do a friend a favor without pay,” said 
the barkeeper in a deprecatory tone, but with a greedy 
look which plainly showed that Mr. Mitchel had played 
a trump card. 

“ I tell you what you do,” he went on after a moment, 
“ Rogers is the man you want. He ’ll go down in the 
dirt and let you walk all over him, for a fiver. A man 
like that would n’t stop long to think, if you held boodle 
under his nose.” 


“ Where can I find him ? ” 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 20Q 

“ Rogers is always in one of three places — here, at 
his home asleep, or in jail.” 

“ And where is he now ? ” 

“ He ’s the man by the window, and he seems to be 
asleep, but that ’s an old bluff of his. He ’s watchin’ us, 
because we ’re talkin’ low. You go into that room to the 
left, and I ’ll send him in. Then you work him.” 

Mr. Mitchel obeyed instructions and was soon followed 
by as ill-smelling a specimen of beer-drinking humanity 
as he had ever encountered. 

“ Your name is Rogers, I believe,” said Mr. Mitchel, 
wishing to make the interview as short as possible. 

“ Good guess,” replied the man. 

“ I wish to ask you a few questions.” 

“Sorry I can’t answer you, but my throat is too dry.” 

Then he uttered a couple of hoarse rasping sounds 
which were very suggestive. Mr. Mitchel was disgusted 
to find himself obliged to deal with such a beast of a 
man, but ordered a drink for him, which he eagerly dis- 
posed of. 

“ Can you talk better now ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, 
sarcastically. 

“ Much better, thanks, but better fill her up again. I 
might get dry any minute. It ’s constitutional with me 
No cure for it, except drinkin’.” 

“ You shall have enough to drown yourself in, if you 
only give me your attention. You were a witness lately 

for Mr. Mora.” 

14 


210 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Yes ! ” 

“ You swore that he was in this hall at the time when 
it was supposed that his father was killed ? ” 

“ That ’s what I took oath to ! " 

“ Mora paid you for that service.” 

“ Good guess. He gave me a tenner.” 

“ So ! You admit then that you swore to a lie ? ” 

“ No, Mister, you ’re wrong. I told the truth that day. 
First time in years, but luck was with me you see.” 

“ No, I do not see. What do you mean ? ” 

“ Why, I mean I was offered money to tell the truth, 
and that ’s a snap, ain’t it ? ” 

“ Then you still insist that Mora was down here until 
after midnight ? ” 

“ It ’s the truth ; that ’s all I can say.” 

“ Then this time you are not so lucky as you thought 
you were.” 

“ How so?” 

“ Why because if you had been lying before, you could 
earn a lot of money now by telling the truth.” 

“You mean by swearin’ that Mora was n’t here that 
night ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How much could I get for that ? ” 

“ Oh, say a hundred dollars.” 

“ Done ! I ’m your man ! ” 

“ Oh, then you would be willing to swear that he was 
not here after midnight ? ” 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


2 1 1 


“ For a hundred, I would ! ” 

“ But, as a matter of fact, was he here, or was he not ? 
What is the truth ? ” 

“ I told you he was here, did n’t I ? That ’s a fact, 
but that don’t cut no figure with me. I ’ll swear the 
other way, and all the lawyers in town would n’t confuse 
me, or trip me up.” 

“ I guess that is true. You have been well drilled in 
your part, and well paid too.” 

“ What do you mean ? I ain’t on.” 

“ I mean that you lied on the witness stand, and that 
you are adhering to your story now.” 

“ You ’re hard to please, Mister. But I ain’t easy to 
offend. I ’ll swear either way you like. There, that ’s 
fair enough, ain’t it ? ” 

“ Look here ! Let me make myself clear. What I 
want is the truth. I will pay for that, whatever it is. 
But when you admit that you are such a liar, how am I 
to believe what you tell me ? ” 

“ That’s so, Mister. You ’ve got me there. I don’t know 
why you should. But what can I do to help you out ? ” 

“ I cannot take your word unsupported. You tell me 
that Mora was here late that night. There was a dance 
going on, was there not ? ” 

“ A regular hummer.” 

“ Did Mora dance with any of the women ? ” 

“ Why sure ! You don’t take him for a wall-flower, do 
you ? 9f 


212 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ I have been told that the best dancer here that night 
was a girl called Lilian Vale.” 

This assertion was made merely to watch its effect, and 
upon the chance that it might be true, since the bar- 
keeper had told him that the girl frequented the hall, 
and had expressed her intention to be at the opening 
soiree on the following night. This Mr. Mitchel doubted, 
but he had determined that in case he should fail to find 
her before then, he would be present himself. 

“ Yes, she was here,” said Rogers. 

“ Did Mora dance with her ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ No,” replied Rogers, “ I don’t think he danced with 
her. Leastways, I did n’t see him. But then I was n’t on 
the watch all the time, not being a dancin’ man myself, 
but more in the drinkin’ line. Which just reminds me, 
my throat is parched again. You must excuse my men- 
tionin’ it, but I ain’t talked so long on a stretch in years.” 

More beer was ordered, and Mr. Mitchel followed up 
his advantage. 

“You say he did not dance with this girl. Then of 
course you know her ? ” 

“ Know the Lily? Well I should smile! Since she 
was so high,” indicating a stature so low, that he must 
have known her at birth, if he were correct. 

“ Does she know Mora ? ” 

“ That ’s more than I can tell you.” 

“ Well, do you know where she can be found at 
present ? ” 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


213 


“ I don’t know where she 's livin’, but I can find her 
for you, if there ’s any money in it,” the last part of the 
sentence added slyly. 

“ Oh, have no fear. You will be well paid. How 
soon can you find this girl ? ” 

“ By this afternoon, I reckon. You see I know a 
woman as knows her well. Sort o’ brought her up, as you 
might say. But they don’t live together now, cause the 
old woman took to gin. But the girl makes it a point to 
see her two or three times a week, so I ’ve only got to find 
out what time she ’s expected, and you could lay round 
till she shows up ; and there you are, as neat as wax.” 

The proposition seemed to be a good one, for even 
though this girl and the mysterious Mrs. Morton might 
be the same person, still her change of residence would 
in no way prevent her from visiting her old foster- 
mother. Besides, now that he had heard of this elder 
woman, Mr. Mitchel was more than ever pleased, for 
while he might have difficulty with the girl, it would be 
comparatively easy to extract information from the old 
woman, who could be made garrulous if a little liquor 
were wisely administered. 

“ Very well, Rogers,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ the sooner 
you find out about this the better. Suppose you visit 
the old woman at once, and I will go with you.” 

“ One time ’s the same as another with me,” replied 
the old sot, and the two men left the room. As they 
were about to pass the bar, Rogers slyly remarked : 


214 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Did you speak ? Yes ? Thanks ! Gi’ me a whiskey- 
straight, Jack,” with which he leaned against the bar 
with the air of an old habitue. 

Mr. Mitchel handed a fifty-dollar note to the barkeeper 
and told him that he might keep the change, which the 
man did. Then Mr. Mitchel followed Rogers out of the 
place, and uptown, to a dingy looking house in Henry 
Street, where Rogers stopped, remarking : 

“ P’raps I ’d better go up first and see how the land 
lays, eh ? The old party may be drunk, and not receivin' 
visitors.” 

“Very well,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ but hurry back.” 

This injunction was obeyed, for within ten minutes 
Rogers was downstairs again, apparently excited. 

“ Say, Mister,” said he, “ you 've struck it rich. The 
old woman ’s sober, and the girl 's with her. Go right 
up. Second floor front, right side. An’ if you don’t 
need me any more, why ” 

“ I can settle, eh ? ” said Mr. Mitchel finishing his sen- 
tence for him. “ Here is some money for you. Good 
day.” 

“ Right you are, Mister. You know my address, Apollo 
Hall. Office hours from 8 a.m. to io p.m. — Ta-ta ! ” and 
he shuffled off, holding himself a little more erect, 
because of the money in his pocket. 

Mr. Mitchel hesitated for a moment, wondering how 
best to effect his object. He had not expected to find 
the girl at this house, and he would have preferred to 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


215 


have a talk first with the old woman alone. But now 
that the girl was so near at hand, the opportunity of 
meeting her should not be lost. He had learned from 
Rogers, that the name of the old woman was Susan 
Cooper ; that she had been married at one time to a 
soldier ; and that she was living upon a government pen- 
sion. She was never sober, except when short of money, 
and this was usually near the end of the quarter, during 
the last weeks of which she did odd jobs, when she 
could get work, and so managed until the next pay-day. 

Mr. Mitchel very quickly decided to pretend that his 
business was with Mrs. Cooper, so that the girl need not 
be warned of his wish to meet her. He ascended the 
rickety stairway, in the darkness, feeling his way with 
outstretched arms, and knocked at the door of the old 
woman’s room. 

“ Come in,” cried a voice within, no effort being 
made to ascertain who the visitor might be. 

Mr. Mitchel entered, and found himself in the pres- 
ence of both women, or as he would have said from his 
first glance, of a woman and a child. He easily recog- 
nized Lilian Vale, although she was older than she 
looked in her photograph. Yet she seemed more like a 
child than a woman. He recalled to mind the hearty 
laugh, with which Preacher Jim had greeted his sus- 
picions in regard to this girl, and now that he saw her, he 
was compelled to admit that there was reason for the 
criminal’s amusement. Nevertheless, when Mr, Mitchel 


21 6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


had once reached a conclusion by logical deduction, he 
was tenacious of his opinion until confronted with most 
convincing proof that he was in error. The coincidence 
of this girl’s stage name, and the flower embroidered 
upon the infant’s garment, needed explanation. He 
could not accept it as a mere chance. Compelled to 
account for his intrusion, he addressed himself to Mrs. 
Cooper, saying : 

“ Your name is Susan Cooper, I believe ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ I am connected with a firm of lawyers who make a 
specialty of collecting pension claims.” 

“ Thank you. I don’t need any lawyers. My pension 
is paid very regular,” said the old woman, a little sus- 
picious. Mr. Mitchel hastened to reassure her. 

“Yes, yes, of course, Madam. That we know. But 
that only applies to the regular pension. I came to see 
you about the amount properly o' you for the time 
before your claim was allowed.” 

“ I never heard of any back money due me.” 

“ Exactly so, Madam. But you see we lawyers look 
into these things pretty thoroughly. Now we hunted up 
a lot of these claims, and we have worked on them, till I 
am happy to say that we have had them recognized, and 
what is better still, they have been paid.” 

“ Then you mean there ’ s money cornin’ to me ? ” 
asked the old woman, eagerly. 

“ Let me see,” said Mr, Mitchel, pretending to consult 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


217 


a memorandum book. “Yes! Ah, here it is. Mrs. 
Susan Cooper, two hundred and eight, seventy-five. The 
odd figures occur, because of the deductions for costs of 
collection.” 

“ You mean I ’m to get over two hundred dollars ? ” 
cried Mrs. Cooper, now greatly excited. 

“ That ’s what the gent said, Mum,” interjected the 
girl, speaking for the first time. “ Sit down. Don’t hop 
up, soon as you hear of a little money coming to you. 
You act as though you never saw two hundred dollars in 
your life.” 

“ True enough,” said the old woman. It ’s many a 
day since I ’ve had that much in a lump. When do I 
get it ? ” 

“ Shall we say to-morrow,” suggested Mr. Mitchel. 
“ There will be some papers to sign, and then you can 
have the amount due you. Shall I call here, or can you 
come to our offic 

“ I would n’t puc you to the trouble of callin’ again, 
sir. Just tell me where to go, and I ’ll be there on 
time.” The old lady was quite affable now, and Mr. 
Mitchel was pleased with his success. He had not only 
well accounted for his present visit, but he had arranged 
an opportunity to meet Mrs. Cooper alone, under such 
circumstances as would make it possible for him to cate- 
chise her. He therefore handed her the address of his 
own solicitors, and asked her to meet him on the follow- 
ing day at eleven o’clock, Then he turned to the girl : 


218 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Pardon me, Miss Cooper, but you bear a great re- 
semblance to a very beautiful little actress, who calls 
herself the Lily of the Valley. Have you ever been 
told so before ? ” 

“ Have I heard I look like the Lily ? Well I should 
smile,” said she, laughing, but evidently pleased at the 
neat compliment. “ Why, I ’m the Lily of the Valley 
myself. My name ain’t Cooper. This is my foster 
mother. My name ’s Lilian Vale.” 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ But 
having seen you on the stage, I could not but notice 
what seemed to be such a very remarkable likeness. I 
hope you will excuse my making such a mistake.” 

“ Oh, you ’re all right. I don’t mind being told 
I ’m good looking. Don’t I know it myself? Don’t you 
suppose I peep at my face in the glass once in a while ? 
Well I reckon ! ” 

“ Undoubtedly you need no one to tell you of your 
beauty,” said Mr. Mitchel, observing her fondness for 
flattery. 

“Well I ain’t very homely, that ’s a fact. But I say, 
it ’s funny you knew me. I ’m made up on the stage. 
I never met you before, did I ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel thought this an opportunity to play a 
trick upon her as a test. She assuredly was entirely un- 
suspicious of his real motives. His words were : 

“ Oh, no ! But I have seen a photograph of you, 
that my friend Mr. Mora has ! ” 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


219 


The experiment was devoid of results, except that it 
seemed to prove that she did not know the name. This 
seemed very probable, because, however well one may be 
able to conceal one’s thoughts and feelings, all human 
beings, when taken by surprise, must lack perfect self- 
control. What she said was : 

“ Mr. Mora ? Who is he ? I never heard of him. If 
he ’s got my picture, you can bet your life I never gave 
it to him. He must have bought it, the gilly. But then, 
the woods are full of them.” 

“ Did you never hear the name before ? ” asked Mr. 
Mitchel, reluctant to admit what seemed certain. 

“ Let me see,” said the girl thoughtfully. “Mora ! 
Seems familiar too. Mora ! Mora ! Where did I hear 
that name ? Oh ! Holy gee ! Why that ’s the name of 
the old fellow that was killed by his son, was n’t it ? ” 

“ You are right. Some persons still believe that my 
friend, Matthew Mora, killed his father. But I assure 
you he is innocent.” 

“ Well, I hope so for your sake. Would n’t be nice to 
have your friend sit in the electric chair, would it ? Ugh! 
Let ’s change the subject. It makes me shiver. I must 
be going anyway.” 

“ That reminds me, that I am overstaying my busi- 
ness,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ But if you are walking, I 
would be pleased to accompany you as far as we go to- 
gether.” 

“ All right. Come along. I ’m going across town. 


220 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Well, bye-bye, Mum. See you again on Monday, if I ’m 
alive. Good bye.” 

She stooped and kissed the old woman, who looked 
eagerly at Mr. Mitchel and said : 

“ I ’ll be at the office in the mornin’. It ’s sure I ’ll 
get the money ? ” 

“ Absolutely sure, Madam. I will see you to-morrow. 
Good morning ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel and Lilian Vale walked along through the 
crowded thoroughfare, an oddly assorted couple. He, a 
gentleman of eminent social and intellectual worth, and 
she, a daughter of the slums, though a beautiful one. 
Mr. Mitchel glanced down at her from time to time, 
admiring her face, but busy also with other thoughts. 

When he had first seen the photograph, he had been 
much surprised at finding that the face seemed somehow 
quite familiar to him. He had pondered over this, until 
at length he had solved the puzzle. The photograph re- 
minded him of a similar one in the possession of his 
adopted daughter Rose, the likeness of a young woman 
who had been a school friend. Afterwards he had com- 
pared the photographs and was even more astonished, 
so great was the resemblance. Yet one was an actress 
in the dives, a slum product, and the other was the 
cherished idol of a millionaire, and had been nurtured 
in the lap of luxury. 

He was acquainted with this wealthy young lady, and 
now that the other was at his side, he was more than 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 


221 


ever puzzled, for the originals were as much alike as the 
portraits. It was no chance trick of the camera. 

As they walked, she gabbled on, expressing childish 
thoughts, in childish language, but full of the slang of 
the quarter in which she had been reared. Mr. Mitchel 
found his problem growing in mystery. Several ques- 
tions confronted him. 

Could this girl be the Mrs. Morton whom young Mora 
had been so anxious that Mr. Barnes should not meet ? 
Could it be that this child was the mother of the aban- 
doned baby ? Her environment was such that this at 
least was possible ; the next logical query, therefore, 
was, who was the father ? Lastly, how to account for 
the resemblance between the heiress, Perdita Maria Van 
Cortlandt, and the actress Lilian Vale, “ The Lily of the 
Valley.” 

Absorbed in these thoughts, Mr. Mitchel had not 
noted through what streets they had walked, until he 
heard the girl say : 

“ This is as far as I go ! ” 

Imagine his amazement to find that they were in front 
of the house in Essex street from which only the day be- 
fore the supposed wife of young Mora had been hur- 
riedly removed. 

“ You live here ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, endeavoring not 
to evince unusual interest in the question. 

“ I did once, but I have moved.” 

“ How long is it since you left this house ?” 


222 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Something in his words or manner must have attracted 
her attention, for, instead of replying, she looked at him 
earnestly for a moment, and then asked : 

“ Why do you wish to know that ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel feared that she was growing suspicious of 
him, and thought best to act promptly, giving her no 
time to guard against surprise. He consequently quickly 
answered : 

“ Because I wish to know where you are living now, 
Mrs. Morton ! ” 

These words aroused her fully, and she gazed at him 
with fear plainly depicted upon her features. 

“ How did you know — did you know that I am mar- 
ried ? ” she stammered. 

“ So ! You admit that you are Mrs. Morton then ? ” 

“ No ! ” said the girl, regaining her composure. “ I 
admit that I am married, since you seem to know that. 
But my name is not Morton.” 

“ What is your name, then ? ” 

“ I am Mrs. Matthew Crane.” 

This statement astounded Mr. Mitchel as much as his 
questioning had surprised the girl. Two thoughts 
darted swiftly through his mind. Preacher Jim’s 
mother was named Margaret Crane. Secondly, in his 
interview with her, she had once alluded to her son as 
“ Matthew.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 

“ A/OU tell me that you are Mrs. Matthew Crane?” 
repeated Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Yes, I do ! ” said the girl. “ Do you find 
anything strange in that ? ” 

“I find it very strange,” replied Mr. Mitchel, “be- 
cause it happens that I am acquainted with Matthew 
Crane, though I did not know that he was married.” 

“ You know him ? You know my husband ? ” cried 
the girl, evidently much disturbed. 

“ Yes ! I know him very well ! ” 

“ Oh ! You won’t tell him, will you ? Please don’t 
tell him that I told you about our being — being mar- 
ried ? ” 

“ Why should I not tell him ? Where is the harm of 
telling a man that you have met his wife ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel spoke thus to alarm the girl, if possible, 
and to make her more apt to betray herself. For he was 
sure that there was deception. 

“Oh! No! No!” she cried vehemently. “You 
don’t understand ! You must not tell him ! Oh, dear ! 
Oh, dear ! I ’ve been a fool to talk to you ! A fool ! 

223 


224 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


A fool ! ” With these words she burst into tears, 
woman’s usual resource when she wishes to soften the 
heart of a man. 

“ Come, come ! ” said Mr. Mitchel, putting one arm 
about her caressingly. “ Don’t cry, little woman ! I ’m 
not an ogre ! I won’t tell, if you don’t wish me ! There ! 
There ! Stop crying ! ” 

She was easily calmed, and hastily wiped away her 
tears with a tiny handkerchief. Whenever I see one of 
these diminutive appendages to a woman’s toilet, the 
thought occurs to me that they are more fitted for the 
eye than the nose. They are soft and sheer, and do not 
redden the eyes when used for mopping up tears. 

Lilian was so anxious to be reassured as to Mr. 
Mitchel’s promise, that she did not notice that she 
dropped this handkerchief after wiping her eyes, nor 
that Mr. Mitchel stooped and picked it up. He held it 
mechanically fn his hand while she spoke. 

“Oh! You won’t tell him?” she cried. “Mind, 
that ’s a promise ! You see, I did n’t know you knew 
him, or I would n’t have told you.” 

She pouted her lips, and tossed her head pertly, while 
her eyes, sparkling through their moisture, made her 
look like a pretty spoiled child. Yet she claimed to be 
a wife ! 

“ I promise not to repeat what you have told me, but 
only on condition that you tell me more,” said Mr. 
Mitchel. 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


225 


“ Tell you more ? ” exclaimed Lilian, again alarmed. 

“ Yes ! You must tell me why you do not wish me to 
speak of your marriage to Matthew Crane.” 

“ Oh ! No ! I can’t tell you that.” 

“ Very well ! Then I cannot promise to keep it a 
secret.” 

“ Well then,” said Lilian in desperation, “ the reason is 
because — ” she hung her head and lowered her voice as 
she completed her sentence, and the hot blood surged to 
her face mantling it in a blush which extended to the tips 
of her ears — “ because we ’re not married ! ” She paused 
for just a moment, then, with uplifted eyes, lighted up 
with a beam of hopefulness that was piteous in its trust- 
fulness, she added : 

“ But we are going to be ! ” 

“ Poor child ! Poor stray lamb ! ” said Mr. Mitchel, 
laying his hand reverently on the girl’s head, and gazing 
into her dark eyes wherein he saw reflected naught but 
innocence. 

“ If ever sin was guiltless, it is here in the heart of 
this child,” he thought, then added aloud : 

“ I want to have a talk with you, my girl. A long, 
long talk. Let us ride on the Elevated railroad, and 
have our chat.” 

“You don’t mean me any harm ? ” she asked, doubtfully. 

“ Harm ! No, indeed, my girl ! I only wish to be a 
friend to you. I would not harm a hair of your head ! 
Will you come ? ” 


226 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


He extended his hand, and she looked at him a full 
minute, hesitatingly. Then with a sudden impulse, she 
placed her pretty soft hand in his and exclaimed : 

“ Yes ! I ’ll risk it. I ’ll go with you.” 

They were soon comfortably seated in a Harlem train, 
in one of the double seats in the first car, which is usually 
the least crowded. 

“ Now, then,” began Mr. Mitchel, “ tell me all about 
it?” 

“ All about what ?” asked Lilian. 

“ About how you happened to be Mrs. Matthew Crane, 
without being married.” 

She blushed again, and looked out of the window. 
Mr. Mitchel did not press his question, but was content 
to let her decide for herself. But he had retained her 
handkerchief, with which he was toying, twisting it 
about his fingers, and now he noted something which 
aroused his curiosity. There was a bit of embroidery 
in the corner. A tiny spray of lily of the valley. Mr. 
Mitchel glanced from the handkerchief, to the girl beside 
him. Could it be, or was this merely a coincidence ? 
She called herself “ The Lily of the Valley,” therefore it 
was natural that she should so mark a handkerchief 
But then was it probable that any other person would 
do the same, and that this other was the mother of the 
infant ? 

“ I don’t know why I should tell you my story,” at 
last she said, turning frankly towards him, “ yet some- 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


227 


thing tells me to do it. The fact is I have n’t been very 
happy lately, and I ’ve wanted somebody to talk to 
about it all. Somebody that would n’t blame me too 
much and would n’t scold, but would just help me. 
But there was n’t anybody like that. Once on a time I 
would have gone to Mum, but these days, she ’s mostly 
full of gin, and you could n’t look for sympathy in a gin- 
bottle could you, now ? ” 

As she talked she gradually regained her composure, 
and there was a merry twinkle in her eyes as she asked 
the question. 

“ Why no, of course not ! ” said Mr. Mitchel quite 
seriously. “ But then you know, I never take gin. 
Honor bright ! ” 

He talked to her as a school-boy might have talked to 
a school-girl, his very intonation inviting friendship and 
confidence, both of which she gave him readily. 

“ Why ! I never thought of you that way. I was talk- 
in’ of Mum ! ” she said. “ You was in luck to find her 
sober to day, and you ’ll be luckier still if she ’s able to 
meet you to morrow. But this ain’t telling you my story, 
is it ? ” 

“ No ! It is not.” 

“ Where ’ll I begin ?” 

“ At the beginning.” 

“ Well then once upon a time I was born — ” she began 
with a light laugh, which was instantly checked when 
Mr. Mitchel interrupted, asking : 


228 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ When and where was that ? ” 

“ The Lord only knows,” she answered, “ and He 
won’t tell. Least ways He ’s never let on to me. I ’ve 
tried hard enough to find out too, but I never could. I 
think Mum knows a little, but she ’s close about it. All 
I could ever get out of her was ‘ Your folks didn’t care 
enough to keep you, so you need n’t bother your head 
about them.’ ” 

“ So you have never known your father or your 
mother ? ” 

“ No ! Never a hide nor hair of either one, did I see. 
So we may as well skip that I reckon, and come down 
to what I do know about. The first I remember was 
when I was six years old.” 

“ What happened then ? ” 

“ I went on the stage ! ” 

“ On the stage, at six years ? ” 

“Yes. I played little Eva in Uncle Tom’s Cabin. 
There was a fellow seen me on the street one day by 
our house, that is Mum’s house, you know. I lived with 
her ever since I could remember. Well, he took a fancy 
to me, and he found Mum, and he offered her ten dol- 
lars a week to let me go with a company he had. You 
can bet Mum jumped at the chance. So the man got 
me and we went all over the country. Everybody was 
good to me, the men and the women. But I ’m sorry 
now I ever started in the stage business, at least so 
young.” 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


229 


“ Why ? ” 

“ Well, I can’t exactly complain, but then you see it 
made me old, while I was still little. You might almost 
say I never was a child at all. Just a baby for a few 
years and then a woman. Do you understand what I 
mean ? ” 

“ Only too well, I fear. Go on.” 

“ Well, I did the Eva business off and on for four sea- 
sons. One of the actors taught me to sing and dance, 
and when he left the company he offered Mun more 
money for me, so I went with him a couple of seasons. 
We used to do a sketch together. He played the part 
of a blind Irishman, and I was his little girl, and he 
used to find his way home by hearing me sing, and a lot 
more like that. Then I got to be twelve years old, and 
I branched out for myself.” 

“ Branched out for yourself ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, you see I found out about things, and I caught 
on that Mum was getting fifteen dollars a week for me, 
when the man I was with got forty, cause you see I was 
a, sort of a genius. Honor bright I was. Don’t you 
believe it ? ” 

“ Indeed, I do,” said Mr. Mitchel heartily. 

“ You’d better say so,” she continued, with a grave 
shake of her head which once more made her appear 
extremely youthful. “ If you didn’t I might shock the 
people in the car by cutting a pigeon wing for you. 
Well, I was what they call an instantaneous success. I 


230 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


went about it in a big way, I tell you. I just marched 
into one of the up-town agents, and I got into a talk 
with him, and told him my scheme. I offered him 
twenty-five per cent, to look out for me, and he made 
the bargain with me. He got out those beautiful litho- 
graphs of me. You ’ve seen them ? ” 

“ Yes ! Was it he who called you the Lily of the 
Valley ? ” 

“ No ! That was my own idea. You see I used to 
be ‘ Little Lilian ’ when I played Eva, but now I was 
going to be a star, I wanted my full name. Lilian Vale 
sounded kind of tame, and first off I thought I ’d just 
put an accent on the ‘e’ and call it Vallee. Then it 
struck me all of a sudden like, and I wrote it down, 
‘ Miss Lilian Vale — The Lily of the Valley.’ That way 
you see I got in the Lily, and the Vallee, only in a 
prettier way.” 

“ This was when you were twelve, you say ? ” 

“ Yes ! My ! Don’t that seem ages ago ! But it ain’t ! 
I ’m only past sixteen now. Well, as I said, I made a 
hit from the jump, and pretty soon I was getting my 
thirty dollars a week in the Bowery, and more when I 
went on the road. That was n’t bad, was it ? ” 

“ Not at all ! But now tell me when you first met your 
husband.” 

“Oh! You want to know most about that? Well, 
now that I ’m started I may as well give you the whole 
thing. I met him the second season I was a star. I 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


231 


was singing in the Bowery, one of those places where 
they let the audience drink in the theatre. There was a 
box that opened on the stage, and one night a young 
man in that box threw me some flowers. I picked them 
up, and without thinking I threw him a kiss. That 
began it.” 

Alas ! how many of life’s tragedies begin with a kiss ! 

“ He came behind,” she continued, “ and spoke to 
me. The next night he came again, and he brought me 
candy, and I let him walk home with me. After that 
we got to be great friends, and then — then I got to love 
him. Do you know, I loved him so it made my head 
ache to think about it. Because I always thought I 
was n’t good enough for him. That was when he was n’t 
with me. But then he ’d come again, and be nice to 
me, and bring me flowers and candy, and he ’d kiss me, 
and then I ’d be happy again.” 

“ Poor child,” muttered Mr. Mitchel. 

“ What did you say ? ” asked Lilian. 

“ Nothing ! Nothing ! ” hastily replied Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Oh ! I thought you spoke ! ” Then she went on : 
“You see he was very good to me those days. Then 
the summer came, and he took me to picnics and excur- 
sions, and we had a good time together. He always 
called me his little sweetheart, and told me how much 
he loved me. One day I asked him something. I did n’t 
mean to, but it just slipped out. My heart was so full 
of it, that it just spilled over, like. He was talking about 


232 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

loving me, and he kissed me. Then I asked him, ‘ Are 
you going to marry me some day ? ’ He looked at me a 
minute and then he said, ‘ Do you think you love me 
enough for that ? ’ I answered that very quick. ‘ It is n’t 
a question about my love,’ I said. ‘ The question is do 
you love me enough. I ’d lie down in the dirt and let 
you walk over me.’ ‘Well, then,’ said he, ‘you can be 
happy, for I mean to marry you some day.’ ” 

She paused here for a moment, and then added with a 
sad cadence in her voice : 

“ That was when I was fourteen, and I ’ve never been 
real happy since that day.” 

“ So ! He accepted your love, and gave you a promise 
in return ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. “ That was all ? ” 

“ That was all ! But he has often repeated the prom- 
ise, and I still believe he ’ll keep his word. Some day ! ” 
“ Now, then,” said Mr. Mitchel speaking softly, “ I 
want you to tell me when your b .by was born ? ” 

It was cruel to take her thus by surprise, but Mr. 
Mitchel thought himself justified, even though he was 
unwilling to give her pain. She looked up at him with 
horror depicted upon her countenance, and was obliged 
to put her hand over her mouth to suppress the cry that 
sprang to her lips. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she gasped. 

“ Just what I said. When was your baby born ? ” 

“ But — but — I have no baby ! ” she blurted out des- 
perately. 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


233 


“ Oh ! But you have ! ” persisted Mr. Mitchel. 

Then he saw the girl in a new aspect. A different 
side of her character was revealed to him. She turned 
upon him defiantly and exclaimed : 

“So that’s your game, is it? You think you are 
smart, don’t you ? But you can’t play tricks on me. If 
you ’ve found a baby, you ’ll have a hard time trying to 
prove it ’s mine. I tell you I have n’t any.” 

“ Suppose that the infant of which I am speaking was 
abandoned by its parents ? ” 

“ What of it ? That happens every day in the year. 
What does that prove ? ” 

“ But suppose it was found in a graveyard ? ” 

“ In a graveyard ? ” she repeated, and her eyes opened 
wide in astonishment. 

“Yes, in a graveyard. A strange place for a baby, is 
it not?” 

“Well, I should say; so. How did it get there?” 

“ Let me tell you the story. This baby was found in 
a graveyard without any clothes on. Not any at all, 
you understand ? ” 

“ The poor little dear,” she said, softly. 

“ It had been crawling among the tombstones for sev- 
eral days, when it was discovered.” 

“ But how did it get there ? ” 

“ Ah, that is the question. We know that it was 
placed there, at night, by a man. We think that the 
man was the child’s father.” 


234 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Impossible ! No man could be such a monster. 
Somebody stole that baby, I ’ll bet, and then did n’t 
know what to do with it.” 

“ No ! In that case he would have left it where it 
would be found. This man wished the child to die. 
That is why I say it was the father who wished to get 
rid of the child.” 

“ But why should a father wish to kill his own child ? ” 

“ Perhaps because he had not married the mother ? ” 

She shuddered, and remained silent. The words evi- 
dently aroused unpleasant thoughts, yet her manner 
throughout had been such that Mr. Mitchel was assured 
in his own mind that at least she had no guilty knowl- 
edge of the abandonment of the infant. And this being 
true, it greatly complicated the case. For if she were 
innocent in that respect, how could she have consented 
so readily to the disappearance of her child ? This 
almost led him to believe that she had spoken the truth, 
and that after all he might have been mistaken in con- 
necting her with the case. But just then she noticed 
that he held a handkerchief in his hand, and asked : 

“ Why, is n’t that mine ? ” 

“ Is it ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel, handing it to her. 

“ Why, yes,” said she. “ See, here is my mark in the 
corner. I mark all my things with a lily of the valley.” 

This decided Mr. Mitchel. He would make a su- 
preme test, especially as they were approaching a sta- 
tion where, if they should descend to the street, he 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 235 

would have but a few steps to go in order to carry out 
his plan. 

“ Oh, by the way,” said he, “ I would like to get out 
here. Will you come with me ? I will not detain you 
more than a few moments, and then we will resume our 
conversation. I wish before we part to explain to you 
why I thought you were a mother.” 

She consented to go with him, and together they 
walked as far as the building wherein are the rooms of 
the Metropolitan Foundling Society. It so happened 
that as they went in Colonel Payton was just coming 
out. He stopped to speak to Mr. Mitchel, but kept his 
eyes on Lilian, who modestly withdrew and stood aside. 

“Well, Mitchel,” said the Colonel, “how do you 
prosper with your fine notions about justice, eh ? 
Found anyone to agree with you yet?” 

“ I have not been looking for an advocate of my 
views,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ I have been ‘ slumming,’ 
Colonel.” 

“ Slumming, eh ? I hope you have n’t a very sharp 
nose. But, I say, you did not pick that up in the slums,” 
he added, as he cast an admiring glance at Lilian. 

“ That is exactly where I found her,” said Mr. Mitchel. 
“ I see you are not too old to notice a pretty face ! ” 

“ Too old ? Well, I should say not, sir. But what 
you tell me seems marvellous. Found her in the slums, 
eh ? Well, Well ! What a pretty flower to be growing 
among weeds.” 


236 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

“ True, Colonel, but then you know the wind may 
waft the seed from the choicest blossom into the foulest 
soil, and yet these seeds may take root, and grow, and 
blossoms may come again.” 

“ No doubt ! But it ’s a very careless gardener who 
allows good seeds to blow away.” 

“ True ! And what shall we say of the gardener who 
wilfully casts his choicest seeds to the winds ? ” 

“ Such a man would be an ass — or worse ! ” 

“Or worse!” agreed Mr. Mitchel. “Well added, 
Colonel. Or worse ! Much worse in this case.” 

“ In this case ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that this is the blossom from a seed cast 
away by the gardener, who is worse than an ass, as you 
have put it.” 

“ Don’t talk to me in riddles, man,” said the Colonel, 
testily. “ Speak plainly.” 

“ I will do so. She is a little Bowery singer. The 
daughter of unknown parents, who cast her adrift when 
an infant.” 

“ A foundling ? ” 

“ Probably. Reared in the tenements of the East 
Side.” 

“You don’t say so? Isn’t it awful, the amount of 
depravity that exists in this world ? Is n’t it marvellous 
that a parent would abandon his own flesh and blood ? ” 

“ I can find no excuse for such a course,” said Mr. 
Mitchel, “ though there might be some palliation.” 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


237 


“ Excuse — palliation ? Rubbish ! You don’t know 

what you are saying.” 

“ Listen to me, Colonel. Here is a girl, herself aban- 
doned by her parents. Let us suppose a case : one that 
is far from improbable. She has this heritage, what 
we may call an atrophied bump of philoprogenitive- 
ness. She is reared in that maelstrom of vice and crime, 
the great East Side. But to return to our simile ; how 
would you expect this tender flower, this hot-house 
plant, to thrive in that environment, and retain its purity 
and fragrance ? It grows among weeds, and becomes 
tainted with the odor of the rank blossoms about it. 
Soon a child is born. A child whose father fails to ac- 
knowledge it. Suppose that the mother, finding it a 
burden, should abandon the child ? Is*£he fault entirely 
hers, or must the responsibility be shared by those from 
whom she inherited the lack of motherly love ? ” 

“ Look here, Mr. Mitchel, you must go elsewhere with 
your psychological or physiological problem, whichever 
this is. I have no time for speculations of that nature. I 

am too practical. But I hope this girl’s story, is not ” 

“ Oh, I am only giving you a hypothetical case,” 
hastily interjected Mr. Mitchel. “ But I say, Colonel, 
you can do me a favor. Will you ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ I wish to take this young woman upstairs, and let 
her see that baby found in the graveyard. I have a 
fancy, that she may be able to identify it.” 


238 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Ha ! You have n’t forgotten that case, eh ? Cer- 
tainly ! I ’ll go up with you. I am interested in the 
matter. We would like to get a clue.” 

He led the way, and Mr. Mitchel went over to Lilian, 
and taking her arm they followed. As they passed 
through the door of the room above, Mr. Mitchel 
handed Lilian a chair and asked her to wait, placing 
her so that she could not see around the corner of the 
L-shaped apartment, and suspect what was about to 
happen. 

The Matron being summoned, brought in the infant, 
wrapped in a shawl, and tenderly placed it in Mr. 
Mitchel’s arms. He motioned to her and the Colonel 
to remain behind, and stepping gently, he approached 
the chair where he had left Lilian. Touching her on 
the arm, he said : 

“ I told you, in the car, the story of an infant that was 
found in the graveyard. Do you remember ? ” 

“Yes ! ” said she, wonderingly, her eyes intent upon the 
bundle in Mr. Mitchel’s arms. He drew down the 
shawl, exposing the face to view, and said : 

“ This is the child. Look closely ! Have you ever 
seen it before ?” 

She gazed at it, at first with mere curiosity, then she 
bent eagerly forward, and looked more intently. Then 
the little one opened its eyes, and looked into her 
face. Thus the two stared at each other for an instant, 


THE TEST OF NATURE. 


239 


and then the baby stretched out its arms and cooed 
softly : 

“ Mum ! Mum ! ” 

With a loud cry, Lilian grasped the child, and strain- 
ing it to her breast, exclaimed aloud : 

“ My baby ! My God ! It is my baby ! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 


PERDITA. 


C OLONEL PAYTON observed this scene in great 
surprise, while Mr. Mitchel only smiled, the 
denouement of his experiment being what he had 
expected. Lilian sat in the chair, and crooned over her 
baby, apparently oblivious of those who stood near her. 

“ When you brought this girl here, did you think she 
was the baby’s mother ? ” asked Colonel Payton. 

“ I thought so,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ but I was not 
sure. She denied it, therefore I brought the mother and 
child together, relying upon the instincts of Nature to 
reveal the truth. There is yet much to be explained, 
however.” 

“ Much to be explained ? ” cried the Colonel. “ I 
should say so. She will have to explain why she aban- 
doned the child, and she must explain it before a jury, 
too.” 


“ Before a jury ! What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that I will have her detained here, until the 
authorities are informed of what has taken place. Then 
she must go to prison. I have no doubt, that with your 
assistance she will be indicted by the Grand Jury.” 

240 


PERDITA. 


24I 


“ Oh, indeed ! But you will not have my assistance.” 

“You mean you will not testify against her. Well, 
well ! You are a poor citizen. You hesitate to do your 
duty, deterred by a pretty face. If all men were like 
you, crime would go unpunished.” 

“ You are quite correct, Colonel. If all men shared 
my views the punishment of crime would be abolished.” 

“ Bah ! It makes me sick to hear a man of your brains 
indulge in such mawkish sentimentality. You allow 
your senses to be led astray by a woman’s pretty face. 
This woman has committed a crime, and she must suffer 
the consequences. You are new at this sort of thing, 
but I am an old hand. I know my duty.” 

“ And you think it is your duty to punish this child ? ” 

“ Why, no ! Not the child, but the mother.” The 
Colonel did not quite comprehend Mr. Mitchel’s mean- 
ing. The latter therefore added : 

“ Ah, but the mother is herself a child ! ” 

“ Oh ! I see what you mean. But youth is no excuse 
in a case of this kind.” 

“ Then you are determined to have her punished ? ” 

“ It is my duty to see that the law is carried out.” 

“But why?” 

“ Because she has committed a crime.” 

“ What evidence have you of that ? ” 

“ Why, did she not admit that the child is hers ?” 

“ Yes, but that does not prove that she abandoned it.” 

“ Why, who else could have done it ? ” 

16 


242 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“Why not the father? Fathers have done such 
things, have they not ? Did you never hear of such 
a case ? ” 

The subject evidently was distasteful to the Colonel, 
and besides, it was ever his habit, when he found him- 
self worsted in an argument, to bring the conversation 
to an abrupt close, as he endeavored to do now. 

“ That ’s most unlikely,” said he. “ Anyway, I leave 
the proof to the District Attorney. It is none of my 
business.” 

“You are mistaken. It is exactly your business to 
learn the truth, before you blast this young girl’s future 
by bringing such a charge against her. It will do no 
harm to question her. Will you listen to her replies, 
while I talk with her ? ” 

“ Oh, I have n’t a doubt that the lies will roll off her 
glib tongue faster than we could write tliem down. But 
you are determined to have your own way, I suppose, so 
fire away. You ’re a crank, Mitchel, that ’s what you 
are. A crank.” 

Mr. Mitchel approached Lilian, who was still busy 
playing with her baby, and talking in a low tone with 
the Matron, who sympathized with the pretty young 
mother. Touching her gently on the shoulder, to attract 
her attention, he said : 

“ So it is your baby after all ? ” 

“ Oh ! Yes ! I am so surprised. How did she get 
here ? ” 


PERDITA. 243 

“ Did I not tell you ? She was found crawling among 
the tombstones in an old graveyard down town.” 

“ You mean that was a real story you told me ? And 
it was my baby ? I don’t understand it all. What does 
it mean ? ” 

She gazed at him appealingly, perplexed beyond meas- 
ure, and Mr. Mitchel felt assured of her sincerity ; but 
the Colonel sneered, and said : 

“ You stated that she is an actress, did you not ? She 
plays her part very well. Quite an innocent, is she not ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel did not seem to notice the cruel speech, 
but again addressed Lilian. 

“ Yes, it was all true, as I told you the story. You 
remember you asked me who could have placed the 
child there ? ” 

“Yes ! And you said you suspected the father ! But 
if you were talking about my baby, then you are wrong. 
Matthew never would have done such a thing. Never ! 
Never ! Never ! ” 

“You mean Matthew Crane ? ” 

“ Yes, but you said you know him ? Why do you call 
him that ? ” 

“ You mean I ought to call him Jim ? ” asked Mr. 
Mitchel, “ Preacher Jim ? ” 

“ Why, no. Preacher Jim is not my — my husband. 
How could you think that ? ” 

It was now Mr. Mitchel’s turn to be bewildered. 
When she had told him that her name was Mrs. Matthew 


244 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Crane, he had felt satisfied that it was the criminal of 
whom she spoke. Now it dawned upon him that he 
had been under some misapprehension, but he did not 
yet see wherein he had been in error. He hastened to 
lead her on now, lest her own suspicions might be 
aroused, and she should thereafter refuse to make 
further disclosures. 

“ I thought you told me so. Then Matthew Crane 
is not your husband’s real name ? ” 

“ Why, no ! If you know him, you ought to know 
that. His name is Matthew Morton.” 

“ Matthew Morton,” thought Mr. Mitchel, quickly 
grasping the truth. “ It was Matthew Mora, alias Mat- 
thew Morton, who was the father of this waif. How 
very strange that what had at first seemed a totally 
different affair should now prove to be connected in 
so important a manner with the case which Mr. Barnes 
was. investigating ! ” 

“ Of course ! Of course ! ” said he aloud. “ It was to 
you, then, that he sent the note, yesterday morning, 
when you left the house in Essex Street in a carriage ? ” 

That he should have this knowledge semed to reas- 
sure the girl, for she now spoke to him more freely. 

“Why, yes,” said she. “Matthew wrote me that I 
must leave the house and go to a boarding-house in 
Tenth Street ; and he told me to call myself Mrs. Crane, 
till I heard from him again. That ’s why I gave you 
that name.” 


PERDITA. 


245 


This seemed very significant to Mr. Mitchel. Did 
Matthew Mora know that Preacher Jim’s true name 
was Matthew Crane, and did he instruct Lilian to as- 
sume that name, as a means of throwing detectives upon 
a false scent, in case they should track the girl to her 
new abode ? It began to look as though Mr. Barnes’s 
estimate of the man was correct. But the main point 
at present was to learn what part he had played in the 
removal of the child from its mother, and in its subse- 
quent abandonment. Mr. Mitchel dismissed all idea 
of collusion on the part of the girl. 

“You say your husband did not place your baby in 
the graveyard. How do you know this ? ” 

“ I suppose I might as well tell you the whole truth. 
Well, one night we were to a ball at Apollo Hall, when 
who should turn up but an old gent, who walked straight 
to where we were dancing. He grabs me by the arm 
and squeezed me so hard, I screamed. Then he threw 
me one side, and grabbing Matthew, he says : ‘ I want 
you to come out of this/ Matthew never said a word, 
but went with him. They went down to the saloon, and 
they had high words together, but after awhile Matthew 
came up again, and tried to make out as if nothing was 
wrong. But I would n’t have it, so finally he told me 
the old man was his father ; that he was on to us and 
was in an ugly humor. I got scared at that and began 
to cry, but Matthew told me there was nothing to cry 
about. There was nothing the old man could do to me 


246 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


anyway, whatever he might do to him. Then all of a 
sudden Matthew turned white like, as though he had a 
sudden id,ea, and he says to me, ‘You wait for me here. 
I ’ll be back.’ Then he rushed off. He was gone a 
long time, and only got back as the ball was breaking 
up, and he took me home. When we got there, baby 
was gone. I was frightened, but Matthew explained 
everything to me. ‘ I got an idea at the ball,’ said he, 
‘ that the Gov’nur might have found out where we were 
living. If he had come here and seen the baby, it 
would have been all up with me. He would have dis- 
inherited me, sure. So I rushed round here, and there 
was the little cherub in his crib. But I know my 
Gov’nur, and I ain’t taking chances. So I ’ve taken 
baby to a nurse I know up town, and she ’ll be all right 
till this blows over.’ ‘ Till this blows over,’ says I, ‘you 
ain’t never going to keep baby from me for a long time ? ’ 
‘ Oh, no,’ says he, ‘ only till the old gent gets off his high 
horse. That won’t be more ’n a week. But it ’s best for 
you not to see baby for a while. You might be watched. 
The old man is full of that sort of thing. If I find it 
out, I may have to move you out of this in a hurry. So 
be ready any time you get word, to change boarding 
houses in a jiffy.’ Then he kissed me and went off. I 
have n’t seen him since, but that ’s why I was n’t sur- 
prised when I got the note yesterday morning.” 

“ Where did this nurse live ? Did your husband tell 
you ? ” 


PERDITA. 


247 


“ No. He said if he did n’t tell me it would be safer, 
as nobody could get it out of me. So don’t you see, he 
was so particular about baby’s safety he never would 
have harmed her.” 

Mr. Mitchel looked down at her, as she stooped over 
and buried her face in the infant’s clothing, and pitied 
her as he noted her childlike faith in her lover. This 
tale about the nurse was so transparent, and yet it had 
served to satisfy the trusting woman because she loved 
the man who had thus basely deceived her. 

“ About what time did the old man come to the ball 
and quarrel with your husband ? ” inquired Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Somewhere about eleven o’clock, I should say. It 
was long before supper, and that was twelve.” 

“ And what time was it when your husband returned 
to take you home ? ” 

“ It was about half-past three ! ” 

“ What did I tell you ? ” interrupted Colonel Payton. 
“ Do you hear ? She is trying to show now that the 
man had possession of the child, and took it away from 
her house about the time when it was placed in the 
graveyard. That is the way she hopes to shield herself. 
Oh, I tell you, women are tricky ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? Who are you ? ” asked Lilian, 
rising and facing him. “ When you say that I am trying 
to prove that my husband took our baby to that grave- 
yard, you tell a lie. I say he did not do it. He would 
not, he could not do such a thing.” 


248 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

“ No, it was you who did it ! ” cried the Colonel, 
losing his temper. 

“ That is another lie ! ” exclaimed Lilian, but more 
calmly. 

“ Look here, my good woman,” said the Colonel ; 
“ keep a civil tongue in your head or it will be all the 
worse for you.” Then turning to Mr. Mitchel, he 
added : “ I say, Mitchel, this farce has gone on long 
enough. I will send for an officer and have this woman 
taken to the station house.” 

“ No, no ! Stop, Colonel ! ” cried Mr. Mitchel, grasp- 
ing his arm. “ I will take her to my own home, and I 
will be responsible for her appearance when you have 
found proof of your charges. Will that be satisfac- 
tory ? ” 

“ Oh, I suppose so,” growled the Colonel. “ Here, 
Matron, take the baby from her.” 

“ Take my baby from me ? ” exclaimed Lilian. “ No, 
no ! You shall not do that. I have found her again, 
and we shall not be separated.” 

“ You don’t suppose I ’m going to let you take the 
child away, do you ? ” sneered the Colonel. 

“ Then I ’ll stay here too,” said Lilian, firmly, hugging 
the baby closer to her breast. 

Mr. Mitchel took the Colonel aside. 

“ Now, Colonel Payton,” said he, “ you must be reason- 
able in this matter. I have good reasons for believing 
that this girl is a victim of a treacherous man, who has 


PERDITA. 


249 


deceived her. The best course, it seems to me, will be 
to detain her in the care of your Society until our evi- 
dence is complete. If you will do this, and for a couple 
of days will hold in abeyance your formal communica- 
tion to the authorities, I will promise you decisive news 
at the end of that time. Will you do this ?” 

“ Oh, I suppose I must humor you,” said the Colonel, 
unwillingly consenting. “ But it ’s irregular, and if any- 
thing should go wrong you must bear the consequences.” 

“ I assume all responsibility,” said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Then I ’ll give the necessary orders to the Matron,” 
said the Colonel walking off. 

Mr. Mitchel went to Lilian and spoke to her gently, 
advising her to remain in the building with her baby ; to 
make no effort to get away ; and to trust him to do his 
utmost in her behalf. He promised to see her again soon, 
and he went away, satisfied that he had made the best 
arrangement possible under the peculiar circumstances. 

Leaving the building he crossed over to Fifth Avenue, 
and walked rapidly up that thoroughfare. He walked, 
because he wished to reflect. He found the problem 
which engaged his mind assuming more complicated 
form than ever. He could readily see how the knowl- 
edge which now was his, would have more than con- 
vinced Mr. Barnes of the correctness of his suspicions 
against young Mora. The detective would have argued 
that the man who had quarrelled with his father, and 
had abandoned his own child, would scarcely have 


250 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


hesitated to kill his father, under the fear of being dis- 
inherited. But for the present Mr. Mitchel dismissed 
that side of the subject from his thoughts. The sup- 
position that Mora was the murderer, left much to be 
explained in connection with the mysterious killing of 
Slippery Sam, and the finding of the will in the young 
crook’s pocket. Besides, he could not reconcile Mora’s 
guilt with certain theories of his own, which he was not 
yet ready to abandon. Therefore, despite the evidence 
which seemed to accumulate against the dead man’s son, 
Mr. Mitchel considered the case still unproven. 

But there was another matter which interested him in 
no ordinary degree. The great resemblance between 
the photographs of Lilian Yale, and his daughter’s 
school friend, Perdita Van Cortlandt, seemed to invite 
study. But having seen Lilian, and having closely ob- 
served her face, he was more than ever struck by the 
likeness between herself and the other girl, as he remem- 
bered her. Yet it was possible that memory was here 
playing him a trick. He had not seen Perdita for nearly 
a year, and so could not now be sure that he was not de- 
ceived, in fancying the likeness to be so great. 

Then it occurred to him that there was nothing to 
prevent his calling at her house. He was sufficiently 
well acquainted with her family to do this without 
exciting comment. With Lilian’s features freshly im- 
printed upon his memory he could thus make a com- 
parison which would be decisive. 


PERDITA. 


25 


Half an hour later, therefore, he stood at the door of 
the Van Cortlandt residence and sent in his name. The 
servant not recognizing him as a familiar visitor, ushered 
him into a small reception room, separated from the 
larger parlors beyond by heavy oriental draperies. 

While awaiting the return of the man, Mr. Michel was 
attracted by a fine Corot which hung on the wall near 
the portieres, and went to that end of the room to ex- 
amine it. Standing there, he was surprised to hear a 
voice, which he instantly recognized, speaking in most 
earnest tones, in the apartment beyond. 

“ But, Perdita, my darling, you have admitted that you 
love me ! Then why do you hesitate ? Can you not 
trust me ? Or do you, too, still doubt ? ” 

It was Matthew Mora who was thus pleading. Thus 
another and most unlooked-for chapter was added to 
this case. Mr. Mitchel firmly believed, in fact could not 
doubt, that Mora was the father of Lilian’s child. He 
fancied that there was an unusual resemblance between 
Lilian herself and Perdita. And here he overheard 
Mora making ardent professions of love to the latter. 

Had Mora also noticed the similarity between his little 
beauty of the slums, and this society belle ? Was it this 
yvhich had attracted him to this girl who was his social 
equal, and whom society would adjudge to be a more 
fitting companion to him through life ? As these 
thoughts occurred to him, Perdita was replying. 

“ How can you think me so contemptible ? I have 


252 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


confessed my love for you. Does not that suffice ? Do 
you think that I could care for you, and not trust you ? ” 

“ Then you do believe in my innocence ? ” pursued 
Mora. 

“ As I believe in my Maker,” was the girl’s reply, and 
the words jarred unpleasantly on Mr. Mitchel’s ear. 

It was not pleasant to be thus playing eavesdropper, 
but the events which were rushing one upon the other so 
swiftly, and the very interests of this girl herself, seemed 
to justify Mr. Mitchel in adopting this method of learn- 
ing the truth. He was therefore glad that the servant 
did not return too quickly. 

The conversation on the other side of the portieres 
continued. 

“ Ah, you say you believe in my innocence, that you 
trust me. But, Perdita, when I wish to put that faith to 
a test, then you shrink. You hesitate to comply with 
my wishes.” 

“ Ah, but what you ask is so unnecessary. I do not 
understand why you should make such a request, nor do 
I think I ought to accede. I owe something to my 
mother, you know.” 

“ When a woman truly loves a man she is ready to 
give up home, parents, and even self to follow his 
fortunes.” 

“ I am willing to do all that, but I do not see why you 
should ask me to do so in twenty-four hours. That is 
very sudden.” 


PERDITA. 


253 


“ Oh, love affairs are always sudden surprises to 
women. That is what they all say.” 

“ Now you are unjust and unkind ! ” Her voice 
trembled a little, and Mr. Mitchel was strongly tempted 
to open the draperies and chastise this man, who was 
urging a girl to do that which her conscience rebelled 
against. Taking advantage of the young girl’s emotion, 
which he thought indicated a tendency to yield, Mora 
pressed his suit with renewed ardor. 

“ My darling, forgive me if I have spoken roughly. 
But it is because I love you so, that I cannot bear to 
lose you, and something tells me that if I do not win you 
now, that if I cannot persuade you to go with me, I shall 
never call you mine.” 

“ But why ? Now you show that you do not trust me. 
I will wait for your return, and be true to you forever.” 

“ Yes ! Yes ! You think so, and you mean what you 
say. But listen ! I must go away. I must leave this 
detested place where all my friends regard me with sus- 
picion. No one knows what I have suffered during the 
last few days. I have been accused of murdering my 
father, and the law has released me. But don’t you see 
that until the real murderer is discovered, there must be 
a doubt in the minds of people ? They are not fully 
convinced. Unfortunately, my father left me a lot of 
money. Worse yet, there was a will leaving half of. the 
fortune to charity, and that has disappeared. Nine 
millions thus come to me as sole heir, which ought to go 


254 THE crime of the century. 

to charity. Yet what can I do ? If I turn that amount 
over to charity, people will say : ‘ He is trying to buy 
back his reputation.’ If I keep it they will say : ‘ He 
profited by the loss of the will, perhaps he is guilty, after 
all.’ At any rate, until the mystery be cleared up, and 
my innocence demonstrated to the whole world, it is only 
natural that people should prefer to avoid my acquaint- 
ance. So at present I am an outcast. A social pariah. 
I am alone in this great city ; friendless in spite of my 
millions. My God, I cannot stand it ! I will not stand 
it ! I must get away, away across the ocean, to some 
remote corner of the world, where I can wait till the 
truth is known, or stay away forever. And I think it 
will be forever, for something tells me that the murderer 
will never be discovered. I am a ruined man ! Ruined ! 
Ruined ! So you are right to hesitate. You are right ! 
Quite right ! I do not blame you.” 

He spoke bitterly, and there was a true ring to his 
words, as though it all came from his heart. Yet Mr. 
Mitchel could not avoid the thought that just such 
words as these, just such emotional tones, were best 
calculated to excite a young girl’s sympathies to the 
point where she might overstep the dictates of discre- 
tion, and take a false step. 

Before he could hear her reply, the servant approached* 
and Mr. Mitchel went to the other end of the room, that 
he might not appear to have been listening. The man 
announced that Mrs. Van Cortlandt would be down in a ) 


PERDITA. 


255 


few minutes, and then withdrew. Mr. Mitchel hastened 
back to the portieres, but too late to know just what the 
girl had said. Mora was speaking again, and very 
rapidly. 

“ Yes ! Yes ! My darling ! I believe that you love 
me, and I know that I am asking a great sacrifice. 
Listen ! We will compromise ! I will let you think it 
all over alone. If you decide in my favor, take the train 
which leaves the Grand Central for Boston to-morrow at 
noon, and when you reach Boston go to the Hotel 
Brunswick. I will be there, with a clergyman at hand 
in readiness to marry us. On the following day we will 
sail for Europe, and then, with our troubles left behind, 
our happiness will begin in earnest. Think it all over, 
dearest, and if you decide against me, send a dispatch to 
my house to-night. Just say ‘ Bon Voyage ,’ and I will 
set out on my journey alone. In any event I will take 
the midnight train to-night.” 

“ I will do as you say. I will think it all out alone, 
but I cannot decide now. I must have a little time. 
What seems right to me I will do. But if my duty here 
should prevent — then you will — you will forgive me ? ” 

“ Yes ! I will forgive you.” 

“ And — and come back for me — some day ? ” 

“ Just as soon as these clouds blow away.” 

“ You promise me that ? For if — if I do not go with 
you — I will wait for you — forever.” 

Then, overcome by her emotion, she began to weep, 


256 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


and Mora spoke soothingly to her in low tones. It 
seemed probable to Mr. Mitchel that, brave girl though 
she was, if left to herself she must eventually yield to the 
importunities of her heart, and forsake her home for this 
man, whose allegiance was rightfully due to another. 

He walked slowly to the window which looked out 
into the street, and stood there, endeavoring to determine 
what course he should pursue. Presently his attention 
was attracted by the figure of a man partly concealed in 
a doorway opposite. He watched the man for a few 
moments, and then muttered : 

“ A spy ! Can it be possible that Mr. Barnes is still 
maintaining an espionage over me ? ” 

Just then, he heard Mora leaving the house, and saw 
him descend the stoop. He stood for a second on the 
pavement, looking sharply up and down. The man 
opposite, however, had withdrawn so that he was entirely 
out of view. Apparently satisfied, Mora walked rapidly 
up the street, turning the next corner. Then the spy 
came forth and glided swiftly after him. 

“ Ha ! ” thought Mr. Mitchel, “ Mr. Barnes cannot 
divorce himself from routine methods. Well, if his man 
keeps Mora in sight, it may be an advantage this time.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 

M R. MITCHEL heard Perdita run up the broad 
stairway, and he readily guessed that she sought 
the solitude of her own chamber. A few mo- 
ments later, Mrs. Van Cortlandt joined him in the 
reception room. He was now quite anxious to get 
away, and therefore he made his call very brief, pretend- 
ing merely to have dropped in to ascertain whether he 
might bring his wife in the evening with the expectation 
of finding the family at home. Thus he arranged a plan 
by which he could meet Perdita again that night without 
exciting suspicion as to his motive. 

It was after noon when Mr. Mitchel left the house, 
and he realized that to accomplish his full purpose he 
would need to be very active during the next twenty-four 
hours. 

He had arranged for Mrs. Cooper to meet him on the 
following day, but that had been merely a ruse to find a 
chance to question her, and now he could not wait. Con- 
sequently he returned to the old woman’s house at once. 

Mrs. Cooper was surprised to see him again so soon, 
but he easily satisfied her. 


257 


258 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ I found that it would not do to wait until to-morrow 
to see you again, Mrs. Cooper,” said he, “ as there is 
another affair of great importance in which you may be 
of assistance to me. In the first place, however, let me 
give you the amount due you on your pension claim, and 
you may sign a receipt.” 

Mr. Mitchel handed her a roll of bills, and wrote out 
a receipt which the old woman readily signed. This he 
did in order to establish himself thoroughly in her con- 
fidence. Then he continued : 

“ I want to have a serious conversation with you now 
about your adopted daughter Lily. She is your adopted 
child, I believe ? ” 

“Well, you might call her so,” said Mrs. Cooper, 
“ though I never took out no regular papers. You see, 
she came to me in a queer sort of way. But why should 
I tell you her story ? ” 

“ I shall explain. I have heard it, in part, already. 
But the time has come when I must have the full details 
in order to save the girl herself.” 

“To save the girl herself ? To save my Lily ? Why, 
what ’s happened ? ” 

“ Did you know that Lily had a child ? ” 

“ Lily have a child ? Of her own, you mean ? Why, 
man, you ’re dreamin’ ! Lily ain’t more ’n a child herself.” 

“ Nevertheless, she has a baby. Listen ! There is no 
time to be lost. As I have said, she has a baby, and this 
baby was recently abandoned in a graveyard.” 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 259 

“ Oh, Lord ! Oh, Lord ! You never mean to tell 
me that ! Her own story all over again. Oh, dear ! 
Oh, dear ! That ever I should live to see this day. But 
what could you expect ? ‘ What 's bred in the bone, will 

come out in the flesh,’ as the sayin’ goes.” 

“ Exactly ! And a saying with much wisdom in it. 
But you say this is Lily’s own story over again. Do you 
mean she was a foundling ? ” 

“ Yes ! a wee little tot of a thing, on my own door- 
step wrapped in a shawl. That ’s how I found her one 
bitter cold mornin.’ But that ain’t the strangest part. 
I guess I ’d better tell you the whole story from beginnin’ 
to end, that is, if you ’re sure you mean my girl no 
harm ? ” 

“ On the contrary, I hope that something that you 
may tell me may aid me to rescue her from a danger 
which threatens. Rely upon me, and keep nothing 
back.” 

“Well, it 's seventeen year ago, come Thanksgivin’, 
when I wakes up wonderin’ what I had to offer up 
thanks for, ’xcept that I was alive, and little thanks for 
that, with my old man buried only three weeks. Any- 
way, as I was born in the Church, and bred up to Chris- 
tian ways, I drops to my knees as I slipped out of bed, 
and I thanks the good Lord for all his mercies, and I 
remember that I added somethin’ about bein’ content 
though he ’d took away my old man without never givin' 
me a baby to comfort me in my loneliness. For I al- 


26 o 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


ways had a mother’ heart, as there ’s many another as 
never gets no babies. I declare this world do seem 
crooked sometimes. But that ’s aside from my story, 
and I s’pose you ’d ruther I ’d stick to that.” 

“Yes ! Yes ! Time is precious ; but tell your story in 
your own way, and we shall get through all the more 
quickly. Go on.” 

“ You ’re a gentleman with a deal of brains, now. If I 
was made to stick straight to the story, I don’t doubt but 
what I ’d leave out half you ’d wish to know. Anyway 
I ’ll do my best. So after my thanksgivin’ I rose up and 
went to the window to let in some light. I raised up the 
sash to push open the blinds, and what do I see but a 
most suspicious lookin’ bundle on my steps. I say 
suspicious, ’cause though I never had no babies myself, 
I ’ve tended many ’s the one, and I guessed right off that 
some wretch had put a baby by my door. ‘ The Lord be 
praised,’ I says out loud, though there were n’t no one by 
to hear, 4 maybe He ’s heard my prayers after all.’ So I 
rushed on enough clothes to go to the door in, and I 
fetched in the bundle, and when I unpinned the 
shawl, sure enough there was a baby. A real live 
baby, rosy and fat, and warm in spite of the hard frost 
outside.” 

“ And that was Lily ? ” 

“ That was Lily, sure. I took her to my heart that 
day, sir, and she ’s had the biggest corner of it ever 
since, though nowadays maybe she don’t think so. But 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 


261 


that ’s all ’cause of the drink, which I own do get the 
best of me at times. But then what ’s a lone widdy to 
do, with times so hard, and growin’ harder day by day ? 
It ’s enough to drive a saint to drinkin’ holy water, and 
that ’s the truth.” 

She wiped away a tear with the hem of her dress, 
which she unhesitatingly lifted for the purpose, and Mr. 
Mitchel fearing that her emotion would interrupt her 
narrative, brought her back to the thread of her story 
by asking : 

“ Tell me how you came to name her Lilian Vale, 
Mrs. Cooper.” 

“ Truly that was a strange part of it. I found a paper 
pinned to her little shirt, and on it was written Vale. 
As I could n’t make out anything but a last name from 
that, I guessed that it must be the family name, though 
why they should take the trouble to tell that, when they 
was disownin’ the child, was more ’n I could make out. 
But how she came to be Lilian was the strangest part of 
all. I was playin’ with the baby, and havin’ lots of fun 
with her, ’cause she was just the cutest and prettiest 
little angel you ever see, when there comes a message to 
tell me a friend of mine was dyin’ and would I come 
over. Well, I did n’t like to leave the baby by herself 
in my house, so I just carried her along with me to my 
friend’s house. And what do you think ? ” 

“ I do not know. What happened there ? ” 

“ Why, just as soon as I took the baby to her bedside 


262 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


and showed it to her, she let out a scream you could 
have heard a mile off. It was her baby ! ” 

“ Her baby ? Impossible ! ” 

“ That ’s what I said when she claimed it, but she 
would have it she ’d a right to know her own child, and 
I could n’t deny her that. So she told me the story, 
and it was just another proof of the way men treats us 
poor down-trodden creatures. She was an actress when 
I first met her. You must know I was better off in those 
days. I did n’t live in no such poverty-stricken neigh- 
borhood as this. I was in a good house in a good street, 
and so was my poor friend. She used to go off on long 
trips, and so I never thought anything if I did n’t hear 
from her in months. I never knew that she ’d had a 
baby till that day when she claimed the one I thought 
the Lord had sent to me. Nor I never had supposed 
she was married, which indeed it turned out she was n’t. 
But that day she told me the whole story. How she ’d 
met a rich young man, who was handsome and all that 
sort of thing. It ’s always that way, you know. They ’ve 
always got a fine face and a long purse. And their 
beauty fills our hearts, while their presents blind our 
eyes to the wrong we do. But you know all that with- 
out my tellin’ it to you. It seemed she ’d loved this 
man for three or four years, and then this little one 
came. She was awfully sick, and after weeks she was 
just gettin’ a bit stronger when he comes to her one 
night, that was the night before Thanksgivin’, and he 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 263 

says to her, in a cold-blooded way, he says : ‘ Alice, my 
girl, what ’ll we do with this baby ? ’ And she ups and 
says, as brave as brass, ‘ I ’ll keep it.’ He starts at that, 
and he says, ‘ But think what the world will say ? ’ ‘I 
don’t care about the world,’ she answers, ‘ so long as you l 
love me.’ Then he said the brutal words that killed 
her. You mark my words ! That man killed that poor 
girl. She was n’t more ’n eighteen when he met her, 
and she was only twenty-two when she died. She paid 
dear for the little love he gave her. But I must tell you 
what he said. He took the baby from her side and he 
says, ‘ Let me see the little brat,’ and he looks at it a 
while and then he says : ‘ What do you call him ?’ ‘It 
ain’t a him,’ she says, kind of mournful, ’cause it hurt 
her to see the father did n’t even know about his own 
child. ‘ It ’s a girl,’ she went on ; ‘ I think I ’ll call her 
Lily.’ ‘ Why Lily ? ’ he says, with a laugh. ‘ ’Cause 
she ’s so pure and sweet,’ says the mother. ‘ Pure and 
sweet, eh ? ’ says the man ; ‘ well, she ’ll lose all that as 
she grows big enough to understand what love is, just as 
her mother did.’ Now, I leave it to you, sir, did you 
ever hear of anything worse than that said to a woman ? 
For a man to ruin a girl, and throw her shame in her 
face like that when she was lyin’ sick ! I calls it an 
outrage ! ” 

“ And I agree with you most heartily,” said Mr. 
Mitchel; “ such a man should be made to suffer.” 

“Oh, he will ! Never you fear for that. And look 


264 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


you ! Would n’t he suffer now, maybe, if he could 
know what you ’ve told me ? Did n’t he lay a curse on 
that child, prophesying it would lose its purity ? And 
now she ’s grown up, ain’t his miserable words come 
true ? How would he like to know that ? He ’d be a 
beast if he did n’t wince when he heard it. But after 
all, so many men are beasts, there ’s no knowin’.” 

“ Go on with your story, Mrs. Cooper. What hap- 
pened next ? ” 

“ Oh, it got worse after that. My friend began to 
cry, and he told her to ‘ shut her whimperin’.’ Nice 
language, was n’t it ? She tried to stop cryin’, and was 
chokin’ back her sobs that would get out some way, 
when he went at her again. ‘ Look here ! ’ says he, 
‘ 1 ’ve come here to-night to tell you something, and 
you may as well hear it now as later. You said you 
would n’t mind the world so long as you had my love. 
Well, you ’ve lost my love, so that ends that ! You 
used to be a pretty girl, but you ’ve cried so much lately 
that your tears have washed away your good looks, and 
my love with it. So now that you understand that, 
perhaps you ’ll think different about the baby. What 
do you say?’ My friend, she was just struck dumb, 
she was so stunned at what he said. But after a minute 
she made out to say: ‘What do you mean? What 
about J^aby ?’ ‘Well, to make it short,’ he says, ‘this 
baby is as much mine as yours, worse luck, and I 
don’t mean to have it botherin’ me in the future. So 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 


265 


I 'm goin’ to take it away.' Then she cried, and she 
begged, and she got out of bed and went down on her 
knees and prayed to him. But he was stone deaf, and 
stony hearted. He just wrapped the baby up, and 
pushin’ her away from him, he went out with it in his 
arms. She fell back in a faint on the floor, and when 
they found her, of course she was worse. And what 's 
more, she never got better again. She died two days 
later." 

“ But she had seen her baby again, thanks to you, 
Mrs. Cooper." 

“ Thanks to the Almighty Father you mean. Thanks, 
indeed ! I never comes to a Thanksgivin' now but I 
offer up my praise, rememberin' what happened that day. 
For who but the Lord led that beast of a man to my 
door, to lay his bundle where it was best for it to lie ? ” 

“ No doubt you are right," said Mr. Mitchel. “ You 
know what the Bible says — ‘ Not a sparrow shall fall ' ! " 

“ Indeed I do, and many 's the time I 've thought of 
them self-same words. But that 's the way the child 
got the name of Lily, or Lilian, which is the proper way 
of puttin’ it. Her own mother gave it to her." 

“ Strange ! Her mother gave her her first name, and 
her father gave her her last," said Mr. Mitchel. 

“Yes ! But that was n’t his fault. And he did n't 
give her his own name neither, which would have been 
more to his credit." 

“ You mean that his name was not Vale ? ” 


266 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Indeed it was n’t, though I did n’t know that my- 
self for years afterward. You see, in the excitement of 
findin’ my friend so low, and hearin’ that the baby was 
hers, I never thought to mention about the bit of paper 
with Vale on it, nor to ask her the name of the father, 
though I doubt if she would have told me. Women are 
strange that way. They let men deceive them, and 
trample them in the dust, and then they goes down to 
their graves keepin’ their secrets. It ain’t just. The 
men should suffer too, I say.” 

“ Did she tell you nothing about the father ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! Almost everything ’xcept his name. 
That she never breathed by no chance. But she told 
me he was rich and good family and all that. And she 
said he must have been crazy that night, ’cause he never 
treated her bad before. And she made all sorts of 
excuses for him, till you would have thought he was an 
angel. But you see, with her baby back to comfort her, 
and knowin’ she was goin’ to die, I suppose she found it 
easy like to forgive him. And near the last she give me 
a package of letters, and her ring ; not a band ring, but 
a lovely diamond that he ’d given her, and she told me 
to keep the letters and the ring for her child, when she 
was old enough to understand.” 

“ Ah ! This is fortunate. Have you kept the letters ? ” 
“ Sacred ! I ’ve kept both the letters and the ring. 
That was a trust from a dyin’ woman, and I could n’t 
break that. Why I ’ve seen the day, many a time, 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 


267 


when I ’ve wanted bread, and could have had it by- 
puttin’ up the ring for a little money. But I never did. 
I was that fearful I might n’t find the money to get it out 
again. Why, sir, not even the love of the drink has 
made me part with that diamond.” 

“You are an honest, good woman, Mrs. Cooper. 
Have you ever read the letters ? Do they reveal the 
man’s name ?” 

“ As I told you before, I did n’t find out about the 
right name for several years, and by then the girl was 
known as Vale, so I never changed it. But the letters 
was from him, and while some was only signed with one 
name, and some only with initials, there was one or two 
had the full name.” 

“ And what was that ? ” 

“ I can’t rightly tell you, because it ’s so long since I 
read the letters, and my memory ain’t what it used to be. 
But I ’ll give you the letters and the ring, and you can 
do what you think is best for my Lily.” 

She went to a trunk, using a key on a ring that must 
have contained the keys of every article of furniture that 
she had ever possessed, and handed to Mr. Mitchel a 
packet containing a few letters in faded envelopes, and 
also a small ring-box, within which glittered a diamond 
of first water, as Mr. Mitchel saw at a glance. 

“ Before I open these,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ there are 
one or two more questions that I would like to ask. In 
the first place, tell me, does Lily resemble her mother ? ” 


268 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ She ’s her mother’s livin’ image. I was only thinkin’ 
of that this mornin’ when she was here. She ’s just as 
old now as her mother was when I first met her, and I 
could almost see my old friend standin’ before me.” 

“ Is she like her in other respects ? ” 

“ She ’s got the same talent for singin’ and dancin’ 
and she seemed to take to the stage as natural as can be. 
Then she ’s got the same easy-goin’, simple, affectionate 
nature. That ’s been the ruin of her as well as her 
mother, I ’m afraid. It don’t do for women to give 
their love too easy in this world.” 

“ Did you ever meet this man Morton, to whom she 
was supposed to be married ? ” 

“ Oh ! So it ’s Morton she ’s fell in love with, is it ? 
Oh, yes, I ’ve met him, and I owe him a grudge. It was 
him as persuaded my Lily to leave me and go to live by 
herself. I see now why that was. He wanted her more 
to himself ; some place where I could n’t keep my eye 
on him. The schemin’ villain that he is ! But I never 
trusted him, and I often warned Lily that he was no 
good.” 

“ Ah ! Then you and he were not fond of each 
other ? ” 

“ Fond of each other ? Well, I should say not. Why 
I despised him, that ’s what I did. I never took to him 
from the first. He never seemed to be what he pre- 
tended. So he ’s the man ? Well, then, I ’ll tell you one 
thing, and you ’ll find I ’m right.” 


MRS. COOPER’S NARRATIVE. 


269 


“ What is that ? ” 

“ I ’ve done my girl a wrong. I said just now that 
she ’s inherited the bad in her from her parents. Maybe 
she has inherited her mother’s weakness, but I Ve never 
seen nothin’ in her that made me think she had any of 
her father’s wickedness. So if her baby was abandoned, 
be sure it ’s no doin’ of hers. It ’s the man as done it. 
And you ’ll find I ’m right.” 

“ Lily denies that she knew anything, but she also de- 
clares that the father had no hand in the crime.” 

“ Ain’t that like her mother ? What did I tell you ? 
She makes excuses for the man, but you ’ll find he ’s the 
villain after all.” 

“ Did you ever meet a man known as Slippery Sam ? ” 

“ No ; I only know he had a room off and on in the 
house in Essex Street, where Lily lived. He was a 
crook, I think.” 

“ Yes, you are right. Then perhaps you know 
Preacher Jim?” 

“ Why everybody knows him. He ’s a crank — touched 
in his head, you know — but he ’s a good man for all 
that.” 

“ A good man ? Why, is he not a criminal ? ” 

“ Oh, he says he is, but nobody knows any wrong he 
ever done. He ’s done lots of good, that I know for 
certain. He ’s helped the sick and poor around about, 
and he is awful fond of children. He ’s been good to 
Lily, givin’ her apples and candy and such like, since 


270 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


she was a little girl. Oh, there ’s no wrong in Preacher 
Jim, ’xcept in his mind, and that ’s the crookedest part 
of him, I guess. But see if you can find the name in 
the letters.” 

Mr. Mitchel looked them over, and very soon came to 
one, at the bottom of which was a full signature. He 
started upon reading it, and uttered an exclamation. 

“ Do you know who it is ? ” asked Mrs. Cooper. 

“ Yes ! I do know the man. What is more, I know 
where to find him, and I will find him within the hour ! ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 

L EAVING Mrs. Cooper’s, Mr. Mitchel hurried back 
to the rooms of the Metropolitan Foundling So- 
ciety, and was glad to learn that Colonel Payton 
had not left. He sent in his card, and within a few 
minutes the two men were alone in the Colonel’s private 
office. 

“ Well, Mr. Mitchel,” began the Colonel, “ back again 
so soon ? Changed your mind about that girl up- 
stairs ? ” 

“ In what way should I have changed my mind ? ” 
asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Oh, well, you were rather impulsive this morning, 
and espoused her case pretty warmly, I thought. You 
said you would take the responsibility of keeping the 
matter from the knowledge of the authorities, and that ’s 
a serious business. I did not know but that after ma- 
turer consideration you had altered your views — come to 
your senses, I should call it.” 

“ You mean that in your opinion it would be the 
proper course to give this girl into custody ? To aban- 
don her to her fate ? ” 


271 


2 72 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ There you go again with your stupid sentimentality. 
Abandon her to her fate, indeed ! And why not, pray ? 
What fate awaits her but what she richly deserves ? ” 

“ Colonel, your Society is in existence for the protec- 
tion of children. Would it not be cruel to have this 
young girl arrested ? ” 

“ That is not our affair. Women cease to be children 
when they become mothers. In this case it is the cruelty 
to the infant that w r e must consider ! ” 

“ Ah ! The abandonment of the baby is the para- 
mount thought in your mind ? ” 

“ It is, most decidedly. We are the guardians of those 
who are defenceless because of their immature years.” 

“ Then you believe that a person who abandons a 
baby should be punished.” 

“I do ! It is the law, and I am a stickler for the 
letter of the law. Without laws, and their strict enforce- 
ment, society must suffer. Therefore, the guilty must 
be punished.” 

“ Regardless of sex ? ” 

“ Assuredly ! Men and women must fare alike. In 
the eyes of Justice the evil-doer is sexless.” 

“ I have heard that Justice is blind, but I have never 
been told before that she is also heartless. I think too 
that you are wrong, for Justice is typified by a female 
figure. Assuredly then, even in the name of Justice, I 
may plead for one of her sisters ? ” 

“ Look here, Mitchel, I hope you have not come here 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 


273 


to repeat all that rubbish which you talked this morning. 
I thought that perhaps you had been making further 
investigations.” 

“You are right. That is what I have done.” 

“Then what have you discovered? Nothing to the 
girl’s credit, I ’ll wager.” 

“ Nothing to her discredit, I assure you. But, Colonel, 
before I tell you the story, which I have heard, I would 
like to ask you why you seem to be so particularly bitter 
against this girl ? ” 

“ I am not ! I treat her just as I would any other 
delinquent. What an extraordinary question for you to 
ask ! You practically charge me with showing prejudice 
against a woman who is entirely unknown to me. You 
use odd language, Mr. Mitchel. What do you mean ?” 

“ Pardon me, Colonel, I meant no offense. But you 
tell me that the girl is a stranger to you. Somehow I 
had entertained the idea that perhaps you had seen 
her before ? ” 

“ Never, sir ! Never ! That is another preposterous 
suggestion on your part. I would have you remember, 
that I do not select my associates from that class.” 

“Well then, perhaps the girl’s face seemed familiar to 
you. Perhaps she reminded you of some one ? ” 

At these words the Colonel started, and then grew 
quite angry. Rising from his chair, he towered over Mr. 
Mitchel who remained seated and looked up at him 

calmly. 

18 


274 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ What do you mean, sir,” cried the Colonel, “ by 
your insinuations ? How dare you come to my own 
office and presume to catechise me in this way ? If you 
hope to help your pretty little friend by your imperti- 
nence, you calculate wrongly, sir. I am not the man who 
puts up with that sort of thing. I have half a mind to 
kick you out, sir.” 

“ I am glad you have only half a mind, for makes 
it possible for the other half of your mind to di 
from such a foolish project. It would be 
for you to dismiss me unheard.” 

“Unheard, sir? Then why the devil don’t you 
speak ? Why are you beating around the bush in this 
way ? Come to the point, sir, come to the point ! ” 

“ I will do so,” said Mr. Mitchel, rising and facing 
his companion. “ It will after all be the best way, per- 
haps. Well then, Colonel, to make it short, I will ask 
you to recall the day when I first came here and saw the 
infant.” 

“ I do, quite distinctly.” 

“ Two things I will mention. You may remember 
that we had a little discussion regarding the proper 
treatment of those who abandon their children. I ad- 
vocated the plan of compelling the parents to care for 
their offspring.” 

“ And I told you, you were a fool. I have not changed 
my mind ! ” 

“ I afterwards told you that I would prove the feasi- 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 


275 


bility of my theories by discovering the father of this 
infant, and compelling him to support his child.” 

“Yes! You did talk some such nonsense. Well, 
what of it ? ” 

“ I have partly kept my word. I know who the father 
is.” 

“ Y *1 heard her tell you his name. That in itself 
proved to me that the girl is thoroughly bad. Why even 
the worst woman will keep the name of her lover a secret.” 

“ I discovered more than that, Colonel. I know who 
the grandfather is.” 

“ Why, naturally ! The father being known to you, 
you easily go back another generation.” 

“ I am not speaking of the man’s father, but of the 
girl’s.” 

“ Oh ! Her’s ! But I thought you said she was a 
foundling ? ” 

“ Exactly ! Her own father abandoned her, and I 
have learned his name.” 

“ Well, who is he ? Why make a mystery about it ? ” 

“ All in good time, Colonel. You will see my point 
in a moment. Now, as a man experienced in these mat- 
ters give me you opinion. Suppose that it could be 
proven that this girl was truly guilty of abandoning her 
babe ; then suppose that in her behalf I argued that she 
herself having been cast adrift by her parents, became a 
double victim. First, of her heredity, which made her 
congenitally deficient in parental instincts ; and sec- 


276 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


ondly, of her environment, a bad one, into which she 
had been thrust by her father. Would not all this 
lessen her responsibility ? ” 

“ No, sir ! Not in the eyes of the law. Of course I 
know what you are driving at. You have been reading 
some of the new-fangled notions of the criminologists of 
to-day : men who would like us to open the prisons and 
release all the criminals, to prey upon the world. But I 
am astonished that a man of your intelligence should 
adopt such fanatical and revolutionary ideas.” 

“ We will not discuss views at present, Colonel. Let 
us keep to the case in hand. You think, then, that in 
spite of the girls heredity, and regardless of her environ- 
ment, she should be held responsible ; and that if guilty, 
she should be punished ? ” 

“ I do ! Such people must be made an example to 
others, if we would lessen that class of crime.” 

“ And what of her father ? He is living yet. A man 
of good heritage and exceptional environment. Yet he 
committed the same crime. What of him, Colonel ? ” 

“ Why of course he ought to be punished likewise, 
though evidently this occurred so long ago, that I doubt 
if anything could be done at this late day.” 

“ I thank you for your candid opinion. Now we will 
go back, if you please, to my first visit here. You may 
recall the fact that the matron suggested that you should 
adopt the child ? ” 

“ The silly speech of a silly woman.” 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 


277 


“ Yes ! But it gave me an idea. She also expressed 
the opinion that the shape of the hands are an evidence 
of the breeding, and claimed, as she put it, that this par- 
ticular infant had ‘blue blood’ in its veins. Now fol- 
low me, Colonel. These words had just been uttered 
when you leaned over the crib and the baby grasped 
your thumb. Thus her hand and yours were brought 
together.” 

“ Well ! ” 

“ I noted a peculiar crook, — it was scarcely a deform- 
ity, though quite marked ; a curious curvature of the 
little finger of the baby’s hand. And, strangely enough, 
Colonel, I observed identically the same peculiarity in 
your little fingers.” 

“ Do you dare to insinuate, sir, that I — ” The Colonel 
was so angry that he fairly bellowed, but Mr. Mitchel 
interrupted him, and calmly added : 

“ That you are the child’s father ? Not at all, Colonel. 
The idea never even occurred to me. But I will tell 
you what I did think. The fact that you, an aristocrat, 
could have such a deformity, proved conclusively that it 
was not impossible that this waif, with her crooked 
finger, might have blue blood in her veins as the Matron 
suggested.” 

“ Oh ! That was your deduction was it ? Well, go 
on ! Go on, sir ! Come to an end ! I am tired of this 
affair.” The Colonel mopped his forehead, and seemed 
mightily relieved. 


278 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“You will know all in a few moments. I shall not 
weary you with the details of my investigation. Suffice 
to say, that I traced the infant to its mother, though, as 
you are aware, I was forced to bring the two together 
before I could obtain the latter’s confession. In the 
mother, however, I found that which greatly empha- 
sized the value of the crooked finger as evidence. Her 
little fingers are similar to her child’s, and to yours, Col- 
onel. That is the point, do you see it ?” 

This time the Colonel did not bluster. There was 
that in Mr. Mitchel’s voice which indicated that he 
spoke from knowledge, rather than from mere presump- 
tion. Therefore the Colonel asked in a low tone : 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean, Colonel Payton, that Lilian Vale, the Lily 
of the Valley as she is called ; this girl for whom you 
think a prison is a fitting home ; this girl whose heritage 
and environment are in your mind no palliation to her 
offense ; this girl whose infant was cast away among the 
tombs of the dead, is 

“ Is what ?” cried Colonel Payton. 

“ Is your own daughter ! ” declared Mr. Mitchel. 

“ It is false ! ” cried the old man in a voice tremulous 
with excitement. 

“ Denial is useless, Colonel. You damned your own 
child, with a curse, which has come at your bidding. 
You prophesied that this babe whose mother called it 
Lily, would lose her purity as soon as she should learn 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 279 

to understand the meaning of love. Well, Colonel, your 
daughter was a mother at sixteen. What say you ? ” 
“Nothing! Nothing! I do not know where you 
have heard this story ! Nor why you bring it to me ! ” 
“One more fact will convince you. You took the 
child from its mother, and wrapping it in a shawl you 
carried it to a convenient doorstep, where you left it. 
But you pinned on its little dress a scrap of paper, on 
which you wrote the letters V-A-L-E. The ignorant 
woman who found the child interpreted this to mean 
Vale, the family name, though she marvelled that a 
parent would abandon a babe, yet disclose its name. 
But she was ignorant of Latin. When you wrote those 
letters you meant them to stand for the Latin word 
Vale , farewell, did you not Colonel ? You thought to 
bid farewell to your sin, to your past, to blot out all, and 
begin anew ? Am I not right ? ” 

“ Yes ! Yes ! I confess all. My God ! My sin has 
found me out. But I was young, I was tempted, I 
was ” 

He ceased suddenly, and stood up erect, transformed 
in a moment from a coward to a brave soldier. Then 
he continued in firmer speech : 

“ No ! I have no excuse to make. I was a villain. 
But since then I have been a soldier, and if I am ready 
to condemn others, I am as willing to confess my own 
fault. I accept the responsibility of my sin. You said 
you would find the father of the little one, and com- 


280 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


pel him to support his child. You have also discovered 
its grandfather ; the father of another abandoned child, 
and you shall also compel him to do his duty. Mr. 
Mitchel, I will acknowledge my daughter before the 
world. I will take her, and her poor little baby to my 
heart and home, and guard and protect them. Are you 
satisfied ? ” 

“ I am overjoyed, Colonel/' said Mr. Mitchel, grasp- 
ing the older man by the hand. “You see, when you 
are forced to decide what real justice is, you adopt my 
theory. I am not sure, however, that I would advocate 
the course which you suggest. We must think it over. 
Whatever is best for the girl must be our chief consid- 
eration.” 

“You are right, you are right ! I place myself en- 
tirely in your hands.” 

“ Then there is not a moment to be lost ! The man 
who has wronged your daughter has also won the heart 
of another, whom he seeks to wed. He has urged her to 
elope with him to-morrow. If she should yield your 
daughter’s fate would be sealed.” 

“ I see ! I see ! You wish to carry out your theory ! 
You wish him to marry my child ! That may not be 
best for her, but you would argue that the child’s inter- 
ests demand such a course. Perhaps you are right. 
These ideas are all new to me. You must forgive me if 
I find it difficult to set aside my own. I cannot help 
wishing to have the villain behind the bars.” 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 


28 


“ No, no, Colonel ! That would ruin your child as 
well as his. It is not to be thought of. Your daughter 
loves the man, and we must hope that she will win him 
after marriage, for married they must be. But now, 
Colonel, if I am to accomplish this, you must frankly 
answer a question that I am compelled to put, however 
painful it may be. Will you do so ? ” 

“ I am entirely at your commands. I will not flinch.” 

“ Well, then, tell me this. Did you not have another 
child ? ” 

“Yes ! ” said the Colonel, in low tones and with a 
bowed head. 

“ Also a girl ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ The same mother ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ By heavens ! I knew it ! The next thing to be 
done is to trace that child, and we have but twenty-four 
hours. It seems hopeless.” 

“ It may not be. That baby was born in a Maternity 
hospital. We could go there. Perhaps their records 
might tell us what you wish to know.” 

“ This is fortunate. I feared that she was another 
foundling. Come, we must visit that institution at 
once.” 

They had not far to go, and were ushered into the 
presence of the house physician, a young woman, whose 
face was made lovely by her sweet sympathy for her 


282 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


sorrow-laden patients. It was quickly explained to her 
that a father sought his child, wishing to offer her his 
love and protection. On this statement, access to the 
records was at once granted, and without difficulty they 
found the name under which the mother had been re- 
ceived. There also was a record of the birth and sex of 
the child, whilst in the last column, written in red ink, 
appeared the significant word, “ Adopted,” followed by 
the date. 

“ By whom was she adopted ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“Ah ! Of that we keep no record,” said the Doctor. 

“ Do you mean that a child, intrusted to your care, is 
allowed to pass thus completely from your supervision ? ” 

“ No ! It is not so bad as that. But we deem it best 
that the name of a person who adopts a child should be 
kept from possible ill-wishers. We receive patients here 
without demanding their real names, purposely that the 
children may not be too easily traced. This is our idea 
of the truest charity. So also we make no registry of 
those who take children away. The adoption may be as 
secret as the new parents may desire. All this for the 
child’s sake.” 

“ But how do you know that these children may not be 
ill-treated ? ” 

“ Oh, we do not lose sight of them, but their where- 
abouts is known to but two persons ; our Matron, 
and one other lady, a patron, one of our board of di- 
rectors. We have two persons in the secret, fearing that 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 283 

were there but one, her death would break our connec- 
tion with our charges.” 

“ Oh, then I am to understand that your Matron may 
know where this child is ? ” 

“Yes ! Perhaps she will see you. I will explain your 
desire to her.” 

Five minutes later a woman entered. One of those 
whose faces teach us that even the very old may be 
beautiful. Perhaps long years of kindliness to others 
had in some way created in her face a moral beauty 
whose purity was reflected in her countenance. 

“ Here is a mother to all the motherless ! ” thought 
Mr. Mitchel. 

“ You wish to speak to me, gentlemen ? ” said she, in 
a voice as gentle as the flow of a rippling brook. 

“ We wish very much to trace a child who has been 
adopted from this institution,” said Mr. Mitchel. “ This 
gentleman is her father.” 

“ Yes ! The Doctor has told me of whom you seek 
information. I do not mean to be unkind, but this is a 
profound secret which you wish me to divulge. I can- 
not without good reasons disclose it even to the father, 
who comes after his child so late. I must first consider 
the interests of the girl,” 

Mr. Mitchel found himself in a quandary. It would 
be impossible to disclose his purpose to this old lady. 
She would very properly hesitate to accept his story with- 
out investigation, and that would entail a delay, which 


284 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

would entirely upset his plans. He deemed it best, 
therefore, to resort to circumlocution. 

“ But suppose that I tell you that this gentleman is 
rich ? That he can give his child a very luxurious 
home ? ” 

The Matron smiled as she answered : 

“ She has every luxury now that money can buy. She 
has more than that, the love of a mother who worships 
her. Her adopted father is dead, and he has bequeathed 
five million dollars to her.” 

Both men started in amazement. What a fortune for 
an outcast ! What a difference between her fate and 
her sister’s. But Mr. Mitchel was much pleased and 
replied : 

“ You seem to keep a fairly accurate knowledge of 
your charges, even after they leave you. Why, it is 
nearly eighteen years, is it not ? ” 

“ The girl is quite as old as that, but we have a regu- 
lar system. The parents are required to report to us 
regularly, and occasionally to send us a photograph. In 
this way we have some corroboration of what they write 
us. If the children are not well cared for we often detect 
it by a comparison of their pictures, taken from year to 
year.” 

“ Then you have this girl’s photograph also ? ” 

“Yes, indeed ! Many of thei 

Mr. Mitchel now endeavored to gain his point by 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 285 

strategy. Taking a photograph from his pocket , he 
suddenly held it before the old lady and asked ; 

“ Do you recognize that ? ” 

“ Why it is ” 

The Matron was taken by surprise, yet so careful was 
she of her secret, that she stopped before mentioning the 
name which had risen to her lips. But Mr. Mitchel was 
satisfied, and completed the sentence for her : 

“ It is Perdita ! ” said he. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 

T HEY had scarcely left the Maternity Hospital when 
the Colonel evinced his impatience to know more 
of his other daughter. 

“ Mitchel,” he exclaimed, “ In heaven’s name do not 
keep me in suspense. You evidently know who and 
where my other child is. Tell me all at once ! ” 

“ It is most extraordinary, Colonel,” said Mr. Mitchel, 
“ and most painful. The simple fact is that the father 
of that abandoned baby, the lover of your younger 
daughter, is contemplating an elopement with your elder 
child.” 

“ Impossible ! You cannot mean it ! God would not 
permit such an outrage! To abandon my little Lilian 
and her child, and to marry her sister ? It would be too 
horrible ! ” 

“ Ah ! But the man does not know of the relation- 
ship. Who would guess that such a link connects the 
Fifth Avenue palace, with the slum tenement ? And 
yet,” he added, musing, “ it seemed so very obvious, 
that I wonder how it could have escaped the man’s 
notice.” 


286 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


287 


“ What was so obvious ? Mitchel, you knew, or sus- 
pected the truth before we visited this institution.. Our 
visit merely confirmed your expectations. Tell me how 
you made the discovery ? ” 

“ Come into this cafe , Colonel, and I will give you ten 
minutes, which is all the time that I dare to waste. We 
can talk in here comparatively undisturbed.” 

They went into the caft taking seats at a table in a 
secluded corner, and after ordering some wine, Mr. 
Mitchel proceeded : 

“ My story is most singular, yet it shows that we should 
be very careful in criticising a work of fiction. How 
often do we read a tale and thrust it aside with the ex- 
clamation, ‘ Bah ! How improbable ! ’ Yet within 
twenty-four hours, our newspapers may report a similar- 
series of events, in actual life. The remarkable simili- 
tude of two sisters, or brothers, has been a common 
theme with novelists, who usually endeavor to make the 
likeness seem more probable by telling us that the chil- 
dren w r ere twins. Yet see what I have found in real life. 
During my investigation of this affair, I found a photo- 
graph which immediately attracted my attention ; partly 
because of the extreme beauty of the face, but more 
especially because it seemed so familiar to me. This, 
despite the fact that I was sure that I had never seen the 
original, Lilian Vale.” 

“ Ah ! Then it was her picture which you showed to 
the Matron ? ” 


288 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ No, Colonel ! Hear me out ! I carried the picture 
in my pocket and looked at it from time to time, becom- 
ing more and more convinced that somewhere I had seen 
the face before. At length I remembered. There was 
in my own home another photograph, the likeness of a 
young woman who had taken a great fancy to my little 
daughter at school, from which circumstance had sprung 
up a slight acquaintance between our families. I com- 
pared the two, and anyone would readily believe that 
they are from the same original. Yet one was a child 
of poverty, Lilian Vale, and the other an heiress to mil- 
lions, Perdita Maria Van Cortlandt.” 

“And you mean that Perdita Van Cortlandt is my 
child ? ” gasped the Colonel. “ Why — Why, man ! The 
Van Cortlandts are my intimate friends. Gabriel Van 
Cortlandt served in the same regiment with me, in the 
army, and I was at his side when he died two years ago. 
What is more — for you may as well have the whole story 
now — I — I — I loved Gabriel’s wife before he married 
her. I never told her, because I was not rich enough to 
woo her. So Gabriel found me no obstacle to his suit, 
and I remained friends with both, preferring to keep my 
secret. The years passed ; but the pain in my heart 
would not die. I went into the army, hoping to forget 
the past, yet within two months chance brought Gabriel 
and myself together, and we remained comrades through- 
out the war. And now I learn that by a strange decree 
of fate one of my deserted children was given into the 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 289 

care of the woman for love of whom I have remained a 
bachelor, while the other, with her own baby has drifted 
into the care of the Society which my conscience has 
forced me to aid to the extent of my means. What a 
strange world ! What a strange world ! ” 

He looked off into space for a moment or two, his 
wine glass poised half-way to his lips. Then he drank 
the contents to the last drop, and turning to face Mr. 
Mitchel, he inquired : 

“ Have you the two photographs ? I would like to 
see them.” 

Mr. Mitchel drew out an envelope from which he 
took two cabinet photographs, which he handed to the 
Colonel, remarking : 

“ Examine them closely, and you will see that the re- 
semblance is so great that no one could escape noting 
it.” 

“ Marvellous ! Marvellous ! ” exclaimed the Colonel, 
“ but there is something I do not understand. In the 
first place these are the likenesses of children, and sec- 
ondly, this one which you say is Perdita, does not greatly 
resemble her.” 

“ Let me make it all clear to you. If you see Lilian and 
then visit Perdita you would be able to detect the great 
likeness that they bear to one another, yet were they 
brought together I have no doubt that it would be easy 
enough to distinguish them. Yet, as you see, their pic- 
tures are as nearly alike, as two photographs of one per- 


290 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


son might be. Lilian’s photograph was taken two years 
ago, when she was only fourteen, hence its extremely 
youthful appearance, though she herself looks scarcely 
older now. This other picture, Perdita’s, was taken 
when she also was fourteen. This explains the reason 
of the greater resemblance between the portraits, than 
there ever will be between the originals, one of the girls 
being older than the other. I have often observed when 
looking through an album of portraits, that this rule 
holds. There may be many children in one family all 
quite different in features, yet a great likeness is observ- 
able among the photographs taken in their babyhood or 
childhood. Thus it was, that the accidental possession 
of a photograph of Perdita at fourteen, with which I 
could compare that of Lilian at the same age, led me to 
the conviction that such a resemblance could only exist 
between children of the same parents.” 

“ Yet it still seems marvellous. And to think that that 
scoundrel should have won the affection of both of my 
girls. It is remarkable.” 

“ Why so ? Moulded as they are, so nearly alike, it is 
not unnatural that they should admire the same man. 
But there is no time for speculation. I must act.” 

“ What is your plan ? ” 

“ I have none. That is to say, I have not definitely 
decided upon anything except the end which I have in 
view. The details must be made to conserve my final 
purpose, and they must be as circumstances may de- 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


29I 


mand. All that I can say is, that I intend to save both 
girls from the fatality which hangs over them. I must 
now hurry home to dinner. To-night my wife and I 
will call upon the Van Cortlandts.” 

“ Ah ! You are going there ? So will I. I will meet 
you there. My visit to-night will have a new meaning, 
a greater interest for me. A new thought is in my mind, 
an idea arising from the past, where I supposed I had 
laid it away forever. Perhaps the old dream may be 
revived. It may be the best solution of the problem of 
the future. It may be that after all, at the crisis of my 
child’s career, I may give her a father’s love, and do so 
without disturbing her faith in her mother by unfolding 
the truth. The past is bitter, and the present hangs 
heavily upon my soul, but, my friend, the clouds may 
part, and sunshine and happiness may be mine even at 
the end of life. At all events I owe you much. You 
have brought me to a full recognition of the wrong that 
I have done, and have shown me the path by which I 
may make some reparation. Above all, you have taught 
me that Justice may be tempered by Charity.” 

“ Justice and Charity are twin sisters, Colonel,” said 
Mr. Mitchel, “ and should go hand in hand through life. 
Good-bye, until to-night. I trust that your hopes may 
be realized. It may be best for Perdita. Poor girl, the 
next few hours will be hard for her.” 

The two men grasped each other’s hands warmly, and 
at that moment was born a friendship which never died. 


292 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


At the Van Cortlandt residence two women were 
seated at the dining table, both silent, and each mechani- 
cally partaking of the food set before her, but so deeply 
lost in thought as to be oblivious of her surroundings. 

The elder woman, Mrs. Van Cortlandt, wore that look 
of serenity which distinguishes one who has lived an un- 
eventful but easy life. If any sorrows had come, they 
had proved but temporary, for in the abodes of luxury 
sorrow is an unwelcome guest, and is soon dismissed. 
The bitterest tears that flow from human eyes cause no 
abrasions on the lids if wiped away with fine soft linen. 
Yet the rich as well as the poor have hearts which may 
be restively discontented at times. 

Mrs. Van Cortlandt was an excellent specimen of well 
preserved womanhood despite her advancing years, and 
the few streaks of gray which only made her luxurious 
growth of hair seem all the blacker from the contrast. 
She had been born of parents who boasted a lineage that 
reached back to the Crusades ; a family whose men had 
been loyal and true to country and to home, and whose 
women had been fair and chaste without exception, 
throughout the records of many generations. Moreover, 
she had been born to wealth which afforded every luxury 
that human heart could crave. All save one, perhaps, 
and with the perversity of life’s fortune which is so com- 
mon, despite her heritage, despite her wealth, the dear- 
est wish of her heart had been denied her. She had ever 
been rather romantically inclined, a strange character- 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


293 


istic when the phlegmatic temperaments of all the mem- 
bers of her home circle is remembered. Indeed, senti- 
ment was so foreign to her home, that her own feelings 
had ever been held in check, hidden within her own 
bosom, and unsuspected by those who thought that they 
knew her best. 

Once a flutter of hope had entered her heart. She 
had met one, around whom her fancy formed a halo, 
which transformed the man into a god. But the lover 
that might have been, was silent ; another, with a longer 
purse came into her life, and won the consent of her 
people even before consulting her ; the loved one made 
no protest, but offered conventional platitudes by way 
of congratulations, and so the dream faded, crushed out 
of her heart by maidenly resentment, and the fear that 
her unrequited affections might have been suspected. So 
this page of her life, the only one upon which a romantic 
paragraph had been written, was turned down, occasion- 
ally, at long intervals, to be opened and re-read. 

Her marriage to young Gabriel Van Cortlandt, a scion 
of a family as aristocratic as her own, and with wealth 
that even exceeded her father’s, had been one of the gay 
ffoes of a gay season in the Metropolis. The honey- 
moon being over, they had settled down to a home life 
in which the entertainment of the best people was the 
most conspicuous feature. Thousands envied the beau- 
tiful bride her possession of her handsome husband and 
her luxurious home. Yet once again wealth failed to 


294 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


procure what her soul most sought. The years passed 
and no offspring blessed their union. 

Disappointed in the first instance, she determined that 
in this second she should not be entirely unsatisfied. So 
plans were made, and details arranged, in which respect 
at least her money aided her ; and when at length the 
arrival of the infant was announced, none doubted that 
a genuine Van Cortlandt had been born into the world ; 
none but that honest old Matron at the Maternity Hos- 
pital, and that other woman, the patron of the institu- 
tion who had indeed suggested the scheme to the young 
couple, and had lent them her aid. 

At the appointed time a closed carriage had been 
driven to the hospital, from which emerged two veiled 
women, who hurried into the building and were con- 
ducted into a private room, where they were joined by 
the Matron. In a few moments three tiny little bundles 
were brought in. One contained a boy baby. 

“ No ! No ! ” said Mrs. Van Cortlandt. “ I want a 
girl. The boy will be able to make his own way in the 
world when he grows to manhood. I wish to save one 
of these little helpless babies of my own sex.” 

Then the Matron showed two others, both girls. One 
was large, and round, and rosy ; with eyes wide open 
and staring at those about as though inquiring why she 
had been awakened, for very wide awake she was. The 
other was tiny, and pale, and asleep, one arm hidden 
beneath her wrappings, the other limp and lying in view, 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


295 


the fingers now stretched wide apart, now closing again 
into a little fist, that was anything but a weapon with 
which to fight the world. This nervous twitching of the 
hand was all that showed that she had been disturbed 
by removal from her crib. 

Mrs. Van Cortlandt leaned over and looked at the 
children, glancing anxiously from one to the other. 

“ Which should she select ? ” 

A question of vast importance to these two little ones. 
She gently grasped the twitching hand of the sleeping 
child, and immediately its nervous movement ceased, 
and it lay at rest. Her heart was touched as she 
thought that the contact with her own flesh had imparted 
peace to the sleeping babe. Then her eye fell upon 
the little finger and her heart beat faster. It was curi- 
ously curved. She remembered one other whose fingers 
were thus fashioned. A deep crimson flushed her cheek 
as she thought that this slight deformity in the child 
would keep fresh within her memory that one bright 
dream of her life, and hastily dropping her veil as she 
arose, she said simply : 

“ I select this one ! ” 

Shortly after this, her husband had gone to the war, 
and she was alone with her new found treasure, which 
grew into her heart, till it became, as it were, a part of her 
being. Yet, to her great surprise, the longer the child 
lived, and the older it grew, the more faded and indis- 
tinct became the memory which she had thought that 


296 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


the sight of the curved finger would keep green. In her 
love for the young girl, and her pride in the child’s bud- 
ding beauty, her own heart’s longings were satisfied. 

It puzzled her to think why she should have revived 
these memories to-night ; and therefore she sat silent 
at the table, musing over the unsolved problem. 

“ Why does it all come back to me to-night ? ” 

Is there any subtle truth in telepathy ? Did she un- 
knowingly feel the impress of the surcharged thoughts 
which another mind was sending in her direction at this 
moment ? 

And Perdita too was silent, thoughtful. But she lived 
only in the present. The past was a beaten track over 
which she need not dwell. The future a dim vista into 
which the young never look except with a gaze of hope, 
and a feeling of security. 

“ All will be well ! ” say the young who look into the 
mirror of the Future. 

But the present and the immediate morrow ! Of these 
Perdita thought much, thought deeply, and was troubled. 
What ought she to do? What would she do? Two 
questions which might have a single answer, or which 
might be treated quite differently. 

“ What shall I do ? ” she asked herself a thousand 
times, “ I love him so. How can I let him go away 
without me ? How can I live without him ? How can 
I refuse to do what he wishes ? When a woman loves a 
man, should she not prove that love by making all sacri- 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


29; 


fices ? Should she hesitate to give herself to him, at all 
hazards ? No ! No ! I love him, I must go ! To-mor- 
row I will go ! It is settled ! I am so glad that at last 
I have decided.” 

At this moment, her mother, in her dreaming of the 
past, was bending over the tiny babe and observing the 
little finger lying at rest within her own hand. As Per- 
dita looked up she met the loving gaze, and there was 
instantly a revulsion of feeling within her breast, as she 
lowered her eyes again. 

“ Mother ! What would mother do ? ” she thought. 
“ She loves me so. She would die if I left her. But 
other girls leave their homes? Yes, but somehow it is 
different with me and my mother. She loves more than 
other mothers love. And I love her too. We have 
always been so much to each other. No ! no ! I cannot 
go ! Mother would die, and then I should reproach 
myself forever. A wife like that would be a burden 
to any man. So, I cannot go. The dream is over.” 

But she fell to dreaming again, and the burden of her 
dream was her love for Matthew Mora. 

They had sat down to dine later than usual, and though 
the dessert was just brought on, both women were relieved 
to have their thoughts diverted by the sound of the bell. 
The butler announced Mr. and Mrs. Mitchel, and they 
went at once to greet their guests. 

“We are so glad to have you come,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Van Cortlandt, extending both hands in cordial 


298 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


welcome to Mrs. Mitchel. “ I hope this is a presage of 
a closer intimacy between our families ? ” 

“ Indeed, I hope so ! ” said Mrs. Mitchel. “ You 
know our Rose is soon to make her cldbut in society, 
and after that eventful occasion we shall be obliged to 
receive, more than in the past. But during her child- 
hood we have lived rather quietly.” 

“ My wife has felt the responsibility of rearing a young 
girl to be a heavy burden,” said Mr. Mitchel, laughing. 
“She says that she will regain her freedom after the 
child is fairly launched.” 

“ Yes, indeed I will,” said Mrs. Mitchel. “ Of course 
you know, Mrs. Van Cortlandt, that Rose is not our own 
child. That makes a great difference, don’t you think ? 
One may do as one pleases with her own, but to have the 
care of another woman’s child ; to wonder always whether 
you are doing as well as the real mother would have 
done makes the responsibility seem all the greater. But 
then, you can hardly be a judge of that, you who have 
been blessed with a daughter of your own. And such a 
daughter ! ” She added the last words turning graciously 
towards Perdita and smiling admiringly upon her. 

Mrs. Van Cortlandt winced a little at these words, but 
showed nothing by her countenance, which had been 
schooled for many years to guard her secret. Before she 
could reply a servant entered and announced Colonel 
Payton, at which Mrs. Van Cortlandt rose to receive him, 
at the same time wondering that he of all men should 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 299 

come on this night. What mystic connection could 
there be between her thoughts of him and his arrival? 
She dared not venture a reply, even to herself. 

The Colonel entered with dignified ease and self-com- 
mand, such as would be expected from the man of the 
world and the soldier that he was. Nothing in his man- 
ner betrayed that this was aught but the most casual call. 
Nor was there anything in the greeting between him and 
Mr. Mitchel from which one might have suspected that 
they had seen each other before on that day. 

Advancing towards Mrs. Van Cortlandt, he bowed low 
as he said : 

“ My dear friend, I hope you will pardon me for hav- 
ing remained away from you for so long. It is almost a 
month I fear ? ” 

“ Five weeks, Colonel/’ said the lady, laughing. “ I 
fear time goes lightly with you, in your world of business 
and pleasure. We two women, alone in a great house 
like this, night after night, keep a better reckoning of 
the visits of our friends, do we not, Perdita ? ” 

The Colonel was charmed to find that in the chro- 
nology of her heart she had noted the flight of time be- 
tween his visits. 

“ Yes, indeed, mother,” said Perdita, advancing. “ We 
always miss you, Colonel, when you remain away from 
us for a long time.” 

“ So, then, you too like to have me come ? ” The 
Colonel’s voice trembled a little, and it was with an 


300 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

effort that he controlled himself. He admired the girl’s 
marvellous beauty, and he wondered that he had taken 
so little cognizance of it hitherto. 

“ Ah, yes ! Indeed we do like to have you here. Your 
interesting stories always make the evening seem shorter.” 

“ So ! Is the Colonel a romancer ? ” asked Mr. 
Mitchel. 

All had taken seats again, Mrs. Mitchel having drawn 
Perdita to a seat beside her on the sofa. She felt a 
great pity in her heart for this lovely girl, who was but 
a child, for the relations which existed between herself 
and her husband were such that she always knew all of 
his affairs. In this one she had taken especial interest 
from the beginning, because of the incident of the 
abandoned baby. She was well aware, therefore, of her 
husband’s object in visiting the Van Cortlandts, and in- 
deed her own part had been assigned to her. 

“ Oh, the Colonel tells the most wonderful stories,” 
said Perdita, replying to Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Why then, Colonel, I have learned this so late, that 
I cannot let another hour pass without hearing one of 
your narratives.” Mr. Mitchel laughed pleasantly as he 
spoke. No one would have thought that there was any 
hidden motive in his words, when he added : “Tell us 
of your first love affair. I never knfew of a bachelor 
who has not been in love.” 

The Colonel glanced swiftly at Mr. Mitchel, hesitated, 
and decided quickly. 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


301 


“ You are right ! ” said he. “ I think a man seldom 
lives alone, from choice. Either no woman will have 
him, or the one whom he loves is beyond his reach.” 

“ And how was it with you ? ” 

“ There is no romance in my case. It was most 
prosaic. I confess that I did love one woman, but I 
never thought it wise or opportune to tell her, so I lost 
her. She married another man, without having sus- 
pected how much I cared for her.” 

“ Are you sure of that ? ” asked Mrs. Van Cortlandt, 
impulsively, and immediately after uttering the words 
she bit her lip in vexation for having permitted them to 
escape. 

“Why, yes! How should she guess?” asked the 
Colonel, with the usual stupidity of a man, failing to 
understand the situation, which, however, Mrs. Mitchel, 
with a woman’s instinct, instantly comprehended. She 
therefore quickly remarked : 

“ Why, my dear Colonel Payton, do you suppose for 
a moment that a woman must be told that a man loves 
her, ere she can herself discover the truth ? Why, we 
are brighter than that. I ’ll wager that your sweetheart 
knew your secret, yes, perhaps before you suspected it 
yourself.” 

“ But then, if that were true, why should she marry 
another man ? ” 

“ Because you did not speak, Colonel,” replied Mrs. 
Mitchel. “ A woman cannot wait forever for a man to 


302 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


find courage. How stupid you are, Colonel, but then 
you are excusable on account of your sex.” 

She laughed lightly, but the thoughts which her words 
aroused in the minds of the others caused an awkward 
pause, which was only broken by Perdita’s saying : 

“ You tell us a story, Mr. Mitchel. The Colonel is 
stupid to-night. I agree with Mrs. Mitchel.” 

“ I tell you a story?” said Mr. Mitchel. “Well! 
What shall the subject be ? About the little girl who 
gave the old hag a lift with her bundle and then found 
that the old lady was a fairy in disguise ? ” 

“ No ! Tell me about your daughter Rose. I never 
knew before that she was adopted ! How was it ? ” 

“ Ah, my dear, that is a sad story for such young ears. 
I am afraid that your mother would not approve.” 

“You are mistaken,” said Mrs. Van Cortlandt. “I 
hold that the old notion that girls should be reared in 
ignorance of the world is not only wrong, but that such 
a course is absolutely sinful. Why should a girl be kept 
ignorant for years only to have her ears suddenly as- 
sailed by such a multiplicity of terrible tales as must 
shock her rudely ? I have no fear of anything that you 
may think proper to relate to us. I also would be much 
interested to learn your daughter’s history.” 

“ I am glad to find a woman who has so much sense,” 
said Mr. Mitchel. “ You are jin de sihle , in the most 
refined meaning of the phrase. My little girl’s story is 
a sad one, though the sad parts really happened before 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


303 


she was old enough to know anything. She is really the 
child of a cousin of mine. He met a young Creole in 
our old home, New Orleans, and persuaded her to elope 
with him. The honeymoon lasted long, but in time the 
young wife was horrified to learn that her husband had 
contracted a previous marriage.” 

“ What ! The man had married before, and then had 
persuaded this girl to elope with him,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Van Cortlandt. “ What villainy.” 

“ In this particular instance it was not as bad as it 
seemed at the time. He was the victim of an unscrupu- 
lous woman, who had married him while he was intoxi- 
cated, and then kept the matter a secret in order to 
blackmail him in the event of his marrying subsequently. 
Her fiendish scheme succeeded only too well. The wife 
died, and my cousin was finally driven insane by his 
disgrace and grief.” 

“ Is not that a sad story?” said Mrs. Van Cortlandt. 
“ But then, after all, the girl brought much of her 
trouble upon herself.” 

“ In what way ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ You said that she eloped, did you not ? ” 

“ Yes ! What of that ? ” 

“ An elopement always implies a marriage away from 
home, and without the consent of parents or guardians, 
and therefore a girl who elopes proves herself ungrateful 
as well as selfish. She is ungrateful because she ignores 
her obligations to those who have cherished and cared 


304 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


for her from childhood. She forgets the nights of an- 
guish spent by her bedside, as they watched her through 
attacks of illness, and how her welfare was always their 
first consideration. She forgets that those who thus 
have served her through life, must have love for her in 
their hearts, and that such love creates an obligation. 
Then, as I have said, she is also selfish. She meets a 
man of whom she can know but little, seeing him only 
when he is aiming to appear at his best. She is at- 
tracted by the glitter and the sheen of the metal ; but 
how can she form an accurate judgment of its purity? 
But something about him fascinates her senses, and she 
mistakes this new feeling for love. He importunes, and 
she yields, leaving home, parents, and real love behind, 
to follow this ignis fatuus. She may even have romantic 
notions and imagine that she is doing a praiseworthy 
action in sacrificing herself, her conscience, and her 
home, to prove the sincerity of her love. Nevertheless, 
there is nothing but selfishness in her act ; she goes, to 
gratify her own desires. Oh, no ! Mr. Mitchel, I have 
little sympathy with women who so far degrade them- 
selves as to elope. There must be something radically 
wrong in a girl who would do so. Why, as much as I 
love my daughter here, I firmly believe that were she to 

attempt such a thing, I would ” 

“No, no! Mother! Don’t say any more! You do 
not know what you are saying ! Mother ! Mother ! I 
love you ! ” 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


305 


This interruption was a surprise to Mrs. Van Cort- 
landt, who could not imagine why Perdita should thus 
cry out, and then rush across to her, throwing herself at 
her feet, hiding her head on her shoulders, and weeping 
bitterly. 

“ Perdita ! My child ! ” said Mrs. Van Cortlandt. 
“ What does this mean ? Surely you cannot ” • 

She stopped, appalled at the idea which was forced 
upon her. 

Mrs. Mitchel, sitting beside Perdita during Mrs. Van 
Cortlandt’s arguments against elopements, had readily 
comprehended how the words must affect Perdita. 
Deeply sympathizing with the young girl, she took her 
hand within her own, and pressed it tenderly, noting that 
it trembled greatly, in evidence of the nervous tension 
under which Perdita was endeavoring to control herself. 
Therefore, when the climax came, with that finesse which 
her husband so much admired, she said : 

“ Poor dear ! Perhaps she is tired out. Come, Roy, 
take me into the conservatory. I so much desire to see 
Mrs. Van Cortlandt’s orchids.” 

Mr. Mitchel quickly divined his wife’s intention, and 
responded instantly to her proposal. Thus Colonel 
Payton was left alone with Mrs. Van Cortlandt and 
Perdita. It was a trying moment for him, and it caused 
him acute pain to witness the suffering of his own child, 
and to know not only that he could not claim a parent’s 
privilege, but that it was from his own abandonment of 


306 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


this gin that the present scene had been made possible. 
Yet if not as her father, surely as an old friend, he 
might offer her words of sympathy. Therefore he 
raised her tenderly, and spoke to her. 

“ What is it, Perdita ? Why do you weep ? Has some 
one injured you ? Has some one been tempting you to 
forget your mother, that you should be so moved by her 
words ? Speak to us, Perdita? Tell us all about your 
trouble ? What is it, my dear ? ” 

Perdita looked up at him for a moment, and endeav- 
ored to speak, but suddenly again burst into tears, and 
turning from them both, ran out of the room. Mrs. Van 
Cortlandt looked after her wonderingly, not yet com- 
prehending all that had happened, and then she said in 
a low tone : 

“ Poor child ! I wish that her father were alive ! ” 

The Colonel was deeply affected by these words, and 
leaning over Mrs. Van Cortlandt’s chair, he hoarsely 
whispered : 

“ I will be a father to her, if — if you will allow 
me!” 

Then, as though fearing that he had spoken too clearly, 
he also left the room. But he went in search of Perdita. 
He knew the house well, and readily found Perdita’s 
room, and Perdita herself lying across her bed pouring 
out her heart-ache in passionate weeping. 

Twenty minutes later he descended to the parlors 
again, and made a sign to Mr. Mitchel that he would 


AN APPEAL TO THE HEART. 


307 


like to leave immediately. So adieus were said, and the 
visitors departed. 

On the street Mr. Mitchel said : 

“ Well ? ” 

And Colonel Payton replied : 

“ I do not understand it all yet. But she asked me to 
send this telegram for her. Perhaps you will know what 
it means ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel took the bit of paper and read merely the 
address of Matthew Mora, followed by : 

“ Bon voyage ! ” 

“ Yes, I understand ! ” said he. “ I will send this 
myself, Colonel ! ” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 

M ATTHEW MORA did not receive the dispatch 
which Perdita had sent to him, because Mr. 
Mitchel deposited it in his pocket-book, and 
not in the telegraph office. Therefore he left the city 
on the midnight train. He was happy in the thought 
that Perdita would follow him twelve hours later. He 
had a section to himself, and he slept soundly, satisfied 
that success was soon to be his. Perhaps he would have 
had troublous dreams, had he seen and recognized the 
man who occupied a section at the farther end of the 
car, and who slept only between stations, starting up 
wide awake whenever the speed of the train slackened. 
But he knew nothing of this, and reached Boston in a 
happy frame of mind. 

Perdita had expected to leave on the noon train, con- 
sequently in the furtherance of his own plans Mr. 
Mitchel took an express at ten o’clock. With him 
were Lilian and her baby, and Rebecca Polaski, whose 
presence had cost him a good deal of bartering with her 

avaricious uncle. Thus this party of four arrived in 

308 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 3O9 

Boston two hours before Matthew Mora would be ex- 
pecting Perdita. 

A suite of rooms at the Hotel Brunswick was engaged, 
and the girls were made comfortable. Then Mr. Mitchel 
called a bell-boy and commissioned him to inquire at 
the desk for the number of Mora’s apartment. Ten 
minutes after obtaining this information, Mr. Mitchel 
tapped lightly upon the door, and in response to a hearty 
“ Come in,” he entered the room, and bowed to the much 
astonished occupant. 

“ Where the devil did you come from ? ” ejaculated 
Mora. 

“New York!” said Mr. Mitchel. “May I take a 
seat ? ” 

“ Why have you come ? ” 

“ To attend your wedding ! ” 

“ What the devil do you mean ? 

“ Exactly what I said ! ” 

“ Look here, Mr. Mitchel, I am not a man to be trifled 
with ! ” 

“ Neither am I, Mr. Mora,” said Mr. Mitchel, rising 
as the other advanced threateningly. “ Think before 
you act rashly. I have not followed you from New 
York merely for amusement.” 

“ Then why have you come ? Answer me at once. I 
have no time to waste.” 

“ Time is always precious, and never should be wasted. 
But I have already answered your question. I came to 


3io 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Boston to be present at your wedding. Do you object 
to my being a witness ? ” 

“You seem to know a good deal about my affairs,” 
snarled Mora. “ If I am to be married, as you say, 
perhaps you could enlighten me as to the identity of the 
bride ? ” 

“You will be fully enlightened in due time. But first 
there are some matters to be set straight. Let me see. 
You expect Perdita Van Cortlandt to arrive by the noon 
train from New York, do you not ? ” 

Although Mora should have been prepared by what 
he had already heard, he was staggered by these words, 
which proved that all of his plans were known to this 
man. 

“ How did you guess that ? ” he stammered. 

“ Oh, I never guess. It ’s a bad habit, common with 
detectives. I am not one, though you have perhaps con- 
founded me with the class, because you met me with 
one. No ! I never act by guess-work. It is knowledge 
with me, always. Accurate knowledge.” 

“ It was impossible for you to acquire this knowledge. 
No one knew my plans except myself and — and the 
lady.” 

“ And she did not betray you. Yet, the seemingly 
impossible often happens. By accident I was at Mrs. 
Van Cortlandt’s house yesterday. Only a pair of por- 
tfires separated us when you made the appointment with 
Perdita. So you see it was very simple.” 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 3 1 1 

“ You contemptible eavesdropper ! ” 

“ I regretted my position very much. I would have 
preferred to walk into the room and disclose the fact of 
my presence to you. Once I was tempted to do so, but 
I refrained, because I did not wish to do you bodily 
harm, as I certainly should have done, had I confronted 
you at that moment.” 

“ You are insolent. But I have no more time. Since 
you know that the lady is coming, you will pardon my 
going to meet her. She is a stranger in Boston, and the 
streets here are tortuous, as you are aware.” 

“Yes, quite so ; but you need not go.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Perdita is not coming to Boston.” 

“ You are mistaken. I know that she is. In fact I 
am positive of it.” 

“ Well, one never should be too sure of anything in 
this world. Now, I happened to make a call at her 
house last night, and when I was leaving, Perdita in- 
trusted me with a telegram which she wished me to 
send.” 

“ A telegram ? ” 

“ Yes. It was very short. In fact, only two words. 
Bon voyage , and it was addressed to you.” 

“ Damn you, why did you not send it to me ? It would 
have ” 

“ It would have prevented you from coming to Bos- 
ton ? Just so ! That is why I did not send it to you.” 


312 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


Mora glared fiercely at Mr. Mitchel for a moment, 
and then suddenly became calm again. 

“Bah! You can’t bluff me. You overheard that 
part of our conversation also. That is how you know 
the signal agreed upon in the event of her deciding not 
to follow me.” 

“ I did not send the dispatch last night, for the reason 
which I have given ; but now that you are in Boston I do 
not object to delivering the original. Perhaps you may 
recognize the lady’s chirography. Here it is.” 

He handed the paper to him, and Mora took it nerv- 
ously. He saw at a glance that it was genuine, and was 
for an instant overcome by his disappointment. Then 
he controlled himself again, and speaking as coolly as 
did Mr. Mitchel himself, he said : 

“Very well! Perhaps now you will allow me once 
more to ask you, why you have come here ?*’ 

“ Once more I reply, to be present at your wedding.” 

Mora was puzzled by this reiteration, and contracted 
his brow in thought. Then a new idea occurred to 
him : 

“ Do you mean that — that Perdita has come after 
all?” 

“No! I do not mean that. I am not alluding to 
Perdita when I speak of your marriage.” 

“ Then in the name of all that is wonderful, who is 
this mysterious woman who is to be my wife ? ” 

“ Lilian Vale ! ” 


MATTHEW MORA'S STATEMENT. 3 1 3 

“ Lilian Vale ? ” cried Mora, recoiling. “ Lilian Vale ! 
You are mad." 

“ No, Mr. Mora. I am perfectly sane. I came to 
Boston to be present when you marry Lilian Vale ! " 

“ Not if I know myself ! " 

“Ah, but perhaps you do not know yourself. Few 
men do. Listen to me, Mr. Mora. It is absolutely 
necessary that you marry this girl." 

“But why ? Why should I marry her? She is noth- 
ing but a little variety actress. Why, she is " 

“ She is the mother of your child ! " said Mr. Mitchel, 
impressively. 

At this Mora dropped into a chair, fairly over- 
whelmed. 

“You don’t mind making assertions, do you?" he 
said at last, still attempting to brave it out. “ I suppose 
you got that cock-and-bull story from her ? " 

“ Not entirely. For example, she did not tell me 
your name. She calls you Morton. Yes, and for a 
short time she alluded to you as Matthew Crane. You 
will admit that it is suspicious for a gentleman to have 
aliases ? " 

“ What proof have you that I ever used those 
names ? " 

“ Come, come, Mr. Mora ; you are not dealing with a 
child. You admitted to Mr. Barnes and myself that 
you called yourself Morton in your ‘ slumming ’ expedi- 
tions, and in the house in Essex Street. You also ad- 


3M 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


mitted that there was a Mrs. Morton in the same house. 
Then you sent a note to that Mrs. Morton, and also a 
carriage in which she drove away. Now, that same Mrs. 
Morton turns out to be Lilian Vale, and in your note 
you told her where to go, and instructed her to call her- 
self Mrs. Matthew Crane. So you see I know every- 
thing.” 

Perceiving that further denial was useless, Mora 
laughed, and lighting a cigarette, put it jauntily between 
his teeth, and said : 

“ Well, what if it is all true? What are you going to 
do about it ? ” 

“ I am going to persuade you to marry Lilian Vale.” 

“ I ’d like to know how ? It will take a good deal of 
persuasion, let me tell you.” 

“ That will depend upon the quality of the persuasion. 
There are two kinds at my command : moral suasion, 
and force.” 

“Force? Force me to marry against my will ? Mr. 
Mitchel, excuse the slang, but you make me tired.” 

“ I will make you more than that before many min- 
utes, young man. I will make you penitent, and obe- 
dient ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel spoke sharply, and Mora took his cigar- 
ette from his mouth, and looked at him, puzzled. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ First let me ask you a question. This girl was an 
innocent child when you met her. She loves you. 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 3 1 5 

She is beautiful. Above all, she is the mother of your 
child. Will you marry her for these reasons ?” 

“ No ! I will not ! ” 

“ Then moral suasion fails, and you compel me to resort 
to force. I regret this, for up to this moment I looked 
upon you merely as the heedless, fast young man of the 
day. Now I know that Mr. Barnes’s estimate of you is 
correct. You are a criminal.”. 

“ You are a liar ! ” retorted Mora, angrily. 

“ I pass that by,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ as idle words, 
which you cannot prove. Mine however are susceptible 
of proof. I repeat, you are a criminal ; and I can prove 
it.” 

“ I ’d like you to tell me what crime I have committed, 
and then show me your proof.” 

“Very well. Now we approach our business in a 
business-like manner. You committed the crime of 
abandoning your infant, and the punishment is seven 
years in the penitentiary. What have you to say ?” 

“ I say, rot ! If you think you can prove that, you are 
mightily mistaken.” 

“ We shall see ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel touched the electric button, and when 
the hall-boy came, he gave him a note. While waiting, 
the two men sat silent, Mora smoking his cigarette and 
gazing insolently at Mr. Mitchel. Within ten minutes 
there was a tap on the door and Mr. Mitchel admitted 
Rebecca Polaski. 


3i 6 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Rebecca, you remember the story you told me about 
seeing the man who placed that baby In the graveyard ? ” 
said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Yes, sir ! ” said the girl timidly. 

“ The moon shone brightly for a while, and you saw 
the man’s face did you not ? You saw it distinctly ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, sir ! ” 

“You would be able to recognize that man if you 
should see him again, would you not ? ” 

“ I would know him anywhere.” 

“Very well. Stop looking at me. Look at that man 
sitting there. So ! Tell me. Do you recognize him ? ” 

Rebecca Polaski gazed fixedly at Mora, and he stared 
at her fearlessly in return. At length she spoke : 

“ No, sir. I never saw him before ! ” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! ” laughed Mora boisterously. “ What 
did I tell you ? So you thought you had a witness to my 
crime did you ? Well, you see you did lie, when you 
called me a criminal.” 

Mr. Mitchel was chagrined to find that Rebecca could 
not identify Mora, but he was stung into action by the 
sneering tone in which the younger man now addressed 
him. Turning to the girl he dismissed her, and then 
advancing towards Mora he said : 

“ Silence ! You escape from this charge, but there is 
a greater one ! ” 

“ Murder, eh ? ” 

“ No, I have no proof of that, though Mr. Barnes 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 3 1 ? 

thinks he has. But do you realize that this girl whom 
you refuse to marry, this girl who is the mother of your 
child, — do you realize, I ask you, that she was only four- 
teen years old when you began to ensnare her with your 
wiles ? Do you know that she is the daughter of Colonel 
Payton, one of the directors of the Metropolitan Found- 
ling Society ? Ha ! That is news to you ? But it is 
true. Now suppose that Colonel Payton, backed by that 
powerful Society should begin to prosecute you, do you 
think that all your millions would save you from the full 
penalty of the law, twenty years in Sing Sing ? ” 

“ Twenty years in Sing Sing ! Heaven and earth ! ” 
exclaimed Mora, pale with fear. 

“ Heaven and earth will both be lost to you, if you do 
not comply with my wishes. You will be confined 
behind stone walls, and the Colonel will see to it, I 
promise you, that Executive clemency never reaches 
you until you have served your time in full. Do you 
not see that the only hope of escape is in the marriage 
which I suggest ? Thus the law would be satisfied, the 
Colonel would be satisfied, the girl would be satisfied, 
and what is best of all, your own conscience would be 
satisfied.” 

Mora had started from his seat, and was walking 
nervously up and down the room. 

“ You are right,” said he at length ; “ I will do as you 
wish ! ” 

“ Very well. So much, I knew that I could compel 


3 1 8 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

you to promise. But I wish you to do more than this. 
I am really befriending you in this affair, and you should 
feel some obligation. Lilian is a sweet, good girl, de- 
spite her present position. What she is, her heritage, 
her environment, and your mischievous scheming have 
made her. But she is full of love for you, and she 
deserves not only to be your wife, but also to be 
cherished by you, and be made happy. Do you not see 
this yourself ? Is there not one spark of manhood 
about you, which leads you to wish to make amends 
for the past, by brightening this girl’s future ? Do not 
marry her merely because I compel you to do so, but do 
so, if you can, from the prompting of your own better 
nature. Can you not do this ?” 

Mora was much touched, and hung his head a mo- 
ment ; then impulsively he exclaimed : 

“ I have been a villain. I see it all now. But I am 
not all to blame. I had no mother. She died when I 
was a child, and my father — well, you did not know him, 
that is all I have to say. But I will marry Lilian, and I 
will make her happy, as Heaven is my judge. And 
there ’s my hand on it — but stop. Perhaps you think 
that I killed my father ? ” 

“ If I thought so I should not allow you to wed this 
girl.” 

“ I thank you ! You are right ! I did not kill the 
old man, though I had provocation enough, and perhaps 
even thought of it on the very night on which he was 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 319 

murdered. He and I had a terrible row earlier in the 
evening.” 

“ At Apollo Hall ? Yes, I know about that. How did 
that end ? ” 

“ He had found out something about my place down 
town, and came after me to the dance. He asked me 
where the Essex Street house was, and I refused to tell 
him. Then he swore that there must be a woman in the 
case, and that he would find her and make trouble for 
her and me. With that he rushed off, and I went back 
upstairs to Lilian. I was talking with her again, trying 
to smooth matters out, when it occurred to me that he 
might come back and talk with the men about in the 
bar-room, Rogers especially, and that by bribery he 
might find out where my place was. Then if he went 
there, he would discover the baby, and heaven only 
knows what would happen. So I hurried up to the 
house, and when I got there the baby had disappeared.” 

“ Disappeared ? ” 

“ Yes ! No one could tell me anything about it.” 

“ Do you think that your father took it away ? ” 

“ I did at first, but when I got back, I *found that the 
old man had not come back, and that no one had talked 
with him about me. No one really knew anything ex- 
cept Rogers, and he did not meet my father at all. No, 
it is a mystery, unless Slippery Sam had a hand in it. 
That is the name of a ‘ crook ’ who had a room for a 
while in the same house.” 


320 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Bui why should Slippery Sam have done this ? ” 

“ Ah ! That ’s the mystery. He might have been 
paid for the job by the old man, but I don’t know. 
He was none too good for it, any way.” Mora spoke 
bitterly. 

“ Mr. Mora,” said Mr. Mitchel, “ I believe your story, 
and I am satisfied that the only evil that you have done, 
is the great wrong to Lilian. I am glad that this is so, 
for you can repair it. Are you ready to marry her 
immediately ? ” 

“ If you overheard all of my conversation with Per- 
dita, you must have heard me promise to have a clergy- 
man here at the hotel. He ought to have been here, ere 
this. However, when he arrives I will be ready for the 
ceremony, if I am right in supposing that you have 
brought Lilian to Boston ? You know you said you had 
come to be present at my wedding ? She must be here, 
then.” 

“ She is downstairs. I will bring her to you at once, 
and also the baby, which you will be glad to know has 
been recovered.” 

“ You don’t ‘mean it ? I am delighted. Lilian loves 
the little one so much.” 

“ And you ? ” 

“ Oh, I am hardly acquainted with my little daughter 
yet,” said Mora laughing. “ But make haste and bring 
my family to me ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel laughed also and left the room. 


MATTHEW MORA’S STATEMENT. 


321 


Meanwhile the man who had followed Mora from New 
York, was below walking up and down the corridor of the 
hotel. This man was Mr. Barnes. He was watching 
the stairway, ready at a moment’s notice to conceal him- 
self, should Mora come down. Time passed slowly, but 
Mr. Barnes is a very patient man. 

It was growing dark as the twilight approached. At 
last his vigil was to come to an end. Mr. Barnes’s ear 
caught the sound of footfalls on the stairway, and at a 
glance he recognized the trousers of Mr. Mora even be- 
fore the man came in full view. The detective dropped 
into a seat near the window and his face was instantly 
hidden behind a newspaper. The man who descended 
the stairway carried a satchel, and looked sharply about 
him, as though fearing spies. He paid his bill at the 
desk and hurried out. He seemed to be in great haste. 
Mr. Barnes followed him, and a few blocks farther on 
both men entered the railway station. The man bought 
a ticket for New York. 

“ Going home again, are you ? ” muttered Mr. Barnes. 
“ Well, all the better. It will save the trouble of getting 
requisition papers.” 

So he too bought a ticket for the Metropolis, and re- 
frained from attempting an arrest, preferring to shadow 
the man back to his own State. A train went out at six 
forty-five, and it carried these two men divided only by 
the length of a car. Shortly after midnight they reached 
New York, and the man hastily walked out of the depot 

2X 


322 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


and hailed a cab. As he was about to enter, Mr. Barnes 
touched him on the shoulder, exclaiming : 

“ Stop ! You are my prisoner ! ” 

“ Why, what is the charge ? ” said the man stepping 
back to the pavement, and facing round so that the 
electric light fell full upon his face. 

“ Mr. Mitchel, by all that ’s wonderful ! ” exclaimed 
the detective. “ How did this happen ? ” 

“ Jump into my cab, and drive home with me. I will 
tell you all about it. Come, in with you ! ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 

M R. BARNES wished that he were back in Boston, 
but as that was impossible, his curiosity urged 
him to accept Mr. Mitchel’s invitation, and con- 
sequently he entered the cab. 

“ I presume that you are astonished to find me wear- 
ing a suit of Matthew Mora’s clothing ? ” said Mr. 
Mitchel, opening the conversation. 

“ I am not surprised that Mora should use that method 
for he has done it before,” said Mr. Barnes ; “ but that 
you should consent to be his dummy, I confess does 
seem strange to me.” 

“ Ah ! .Now you are allowing your chagrin to cloud 
your intellect. You know me better. I am no man’s 
dummy. If I disguise myself, it is to further a purpose 
of my own.” 

“ Well, let it go that way. I would like to know what 
purpose of your own is of sufficient importance to justify 
your aiding in the escape of a murderer ? ” 

“ None ! But have I done that ?” 

“ Unquestionably. Mora had taken passage in a ship 
323 


3 2 4 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


sailing for Europe early this morning. I fear now that 
it will be too late for me to stop him.” 

“ I sincerely hope so ! ” 

“ Then you admit that your ruse was to lead me 
astray, and so prevent my arresting this man ? ” 

“ I admit that much. Yes.” 

“ Do you not know that this is a state’s prison of- 
fense ? ” 

“ No! What statute specifies that interference which 
prevents a usually astute detective from making an ass 
of himself by arresting an innocent man, is punishable 
by imprisonment? ” 

“ Mr. Mitchel, your words are insulting ! " 

“ They are not meant offensively, Mr. Barnes ; some- 
times it is as necessary to use strong language to bring a 
man to his senses, as it is to administer drastic drugs to 
an ill patient. You have been troubled throughout this 
case with an affection of your mental eyesight, which has 
contorted all forms into a single image. Seeking the 
murderer of old Matthew Mora, you have been able to 
recognize no one as possibly guilty except the son. You 
have persistently followed your ancient methods of spy- 
ing upon the suspected man, and you have converted 
every act of his into one thread of your fabric of evi- 
dence. Let me direct your attention right here to the 
great fallacy of such a course. If you watch a man, any 
man, all acts of his, not intelligible to yourself, become 
suspicious. If the man happen to be a criminal, this 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 325 

fact is more conspicuously true. If, moreover, he knows 
that he is watched, his very efforts to escape from con- 
stant espionage, only emphasize the probability of your 
preconceived theory. But you overlook the important 
feature, that though a man may be a criminal, he is not 
necessarily guilty of the special crime for which the de- 
tective is seeking him. So it is with young Mora. He 
has acted criminally, but nevertheless, he did not kill 
his father.” 

“ All that you say is true in theory, Mr. Mitchel, but 
be assured it is only theory in this instance. It does not 
apply to Mora. For once in your life, you have blun- 
dered. The man did kill his father. I have indubitable 
evidence of that fact.” 

te Oh, if you are so certain, of course I must listen 
to you. It will be the shortest way. Proceed with your 
evidence. How do you prove your charge ? ” 

“ Since I last saw you I have discovered several im- 
portant facts. In the first place, there was a serious 
quarrel between father and son, on that very night, at 
Apollo Hall.” 

“ I know that ! ” 

“ You do ? ” exclaimed Mr. Barnes, surprised. He 
had counted upon this as a telling point. However, he 
added : “Well, did you know that the two men came to 
blows ? That this exemplary son, whose cause you 
espouse so warmly, struck his father a blow which 
knocked him down ? ” 


326 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

“ No ! ” admitted Mr. Mitchel. “ I did not know 
that.” 

“ I have two competent and trustworthy witnesses to 
that fact. After striking his father, Mora then returned 
to the dancing hall, while the old man went off breathing 
vengeance, and swearing that he would kill his son if 
the latter should dare to return home. What do you 
say to that ? ” 

“ Of course a quarrel is frequently the antecedent to a 
killing, but the bare fact that there has been a quarrel, 
does not prove that murder was a consequent result. 
From your own statement, it was the father who uttered 
the threat. Had the son been killed, your evidence 
would have more point.” 

“ You are not easily made to yield up your own opin- 
ions. Let me give you my best proof. You recall the 
valet, who put on his master’s clothing in order to tempt 
me to follow him ? ” 

“ No ! No ! Mr. Barnes. Give the devil his due. The 
clothing was put on the valet, merely as a pretended ruse. 
You were expected to detect this, and to deduce there- 
from that the master himself did not wish to be tracked. 
As was planned, you did not follow the valet, and there- 
fore he was enabled to carry out his master’s wishes.” 

“ That is of no consequence now. I have learned 
that this man is himself a well-known crook.” 

“ I know that.” 

“You seem to know everything,” said the detective, 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 327 

testily. “ But you cannot know this. I have had that 
man arrested and detained as a witness in this case. He 
has given important evidence.” 

“ Against whom ? ” 

“ Against Mora, of course. He declares that he was 
aroused by the noise of the struggle between Mora and 
his father, and that hurriedly dressing himself, he 
reached his master’s room just as the latter returned to 
it. Mora was much agitated and was attired only in 
his shirt and undergarments. This accounts for the 
blood upon his wristband, and you see fits very well the 
theory advanced by your crank Preacher Jim.” 

“Very well, indeed,” said Mr. Mitchel. “Anything 
more ? ” 

“ The valet further declares that he assisted Mora to 
dress again, and saw him leave the house attired in the 
plaid suit, exactly in accord with the story told by the 
watchman. What do you say now of your friend ? ” 

“ That I am glad he is out of reach of your blunders ! ” 
“ How ? Not yet convinced of this man’s guilt ? ” 

“ It is impossible for me to think a man guilty, when I 
know him to be innocent. You note my words? I 
know him to be innocent.” 

“ You cannot know what is untrue ! ” 

“ Certainly not. But I know this man is innocent, be- 
cause I know who is guilty.” 

“You know who is guilty ?” exclaimed Mr. Barnes, 
more astonished than ever. 


328 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Yes ! But here we are at the house. Come in, and 
I will make it all clear to you.” 

They left the cab and ran up the stoop, but before 
Mr. Mitchel could fit his latch-key into the lock the 
door was opened by his valet, who had been waiting up 
for him. 

“ There is some one to see you, sir,” said the valet, at 
once. 

“ Someone to see me ? ” exclaimed Mr. Mitchel. “ At 
this hour ? ” 

“Yes, sir. He came at eleven, and said that he would 
wait. He insisted that you would be at home to-night.” 

“ But how could he know that, when it was by the 
merest chance that I did return ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir, but he seemed certain about it. I 
thought best to sit up, too, as he ’s a rather queer cus- 
tomer. He says his name is Preacher Jim.” 

“ Preacher Jim ! ” cried Mr. Mitchel. “ This will be 
interesting, Mr. Barnes. Come with me. Where is he ? ” 

“ In the library, sir.” 

Mr. Mitchel and Mr. Barnes went to the library, and 
were met by Preacher Jim, who advanced as they en- 
tered. 

“ You have come at last ! I am glad that I waited, 
but relieve my suspense at once. Tell me. And so they 
are really married ? ” 

“ Of whom are you speaking ? ” asked Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Of Matthew Mora and Lilian — Lilian Vale.” 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 329 

“Yes! They are married. How did you suspect 
this?” 

“ I did not suspect it, I knew it. Did I not tell you 
that our Society knows all that passes which is of interest 
to its members ? ” 

“ Yes ! But that does not explain your knowledge of 
my movements ? ” 

“Oh! You want details. They are uninteresting; 
mere routine. I knew when you left town, because I 
saw you go, taking Lilian with you. I also knew that 
Mora had gone, and that your friend here, Mr. Barnes, 
detective, had followed that young man. I did not care 
to play the spy myself, so I merely telegraphed to com- 
petent agents in Boston, and they kept you all in sight 
from the moment when you reached Boston, Two hours 
ago I received this telegram.” 

He handed a blue paper to Mr. Mitchel, on which 
were the words : 

“ Girl married. Mitchel returns in Mora’s clothes. 
Barnes following.” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! ” laughed Mr. Mitchel ; “ your agent was 
shrewder than Mr. Barnes, for he saw through my dis- 
guise.” 

“You have not explained that yet, and I am entirely 
in the dark about this marriage of which you speak,” 
said Mr. Barnes. 

Mr. Mitchel invited the two men to be seated, ordered 
some wine and cigars and then related all that he had 


330 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


discovered about the abandoned baby, about Lilian and 
Mora, and finally about his visit to Boston. 

“ As I entered the hotel,” he continued, “ I saw you, 
Mr. Barnes, seated near the window, your face concealed 
behind a newspaper. I hurried by, as I did not wish 
you to see me. After bringing Mora to the point of 
agreeing to marry, I took Lilian and the child to his 
room. It was a happy reunion, I assure you, and I am 
certain that the result will be equally so. Very shortly 
after, the clergyman arrived and the nuptial knot was 
tied. Then I took Mora aside, and explained the danger 
which awaited him down stairs. That in fact you would 
surely arrest him for his father’s murder, before he could 
leave town. He completely lost his nerve. Having just 
made full reparation for the only wrong of which he 
had been guilty, he was entirely overwhelmed by the 
new disaster which threatened. It was I, therefore, who 
advised him how to act. I made him divest himself of 
his clothing, in which I dressed myself, and I exchanged 
satchels with him. Then I hurried down stairs, making 
noise enough to attract your attention, Mr. Barnes, but 
keeping my face so turned that you would not see it. 
As I had expected, the satchel in my hand satisfied 
you that I was about to leave the city, and therefore you 
followed me. I presume you did not arrest me in Bos- 
ton, because you thought it would save time to allow me 
to return to New York.” 

“Yes! You completely outwitted me, Mr. Mitchel. 


PREACHER JIM'S LAST SERMON. 33 1 

But I am still under the impression that you have made 
a grave error, that, in fact, you have assisted a murderer 
to escape. I have told you what convincing evidence I 
have ! ” 

“ Convincing evidence, which however leaves me un- 
convinced,” said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ You said in the cab, that you know who was guilty ! ” 

“You know who is guilty,” exclaimed Preacher Jim. 

“ You know ? ” 

“Yes, Preacher Jim ! Yes, Mr. Barnes ! I know ! ” 

“ You think that it was Slippery Sam ?” inquired Mr. 
Barnes. 

“ No ! I do not think that, although I could tell you 
that which might lead you to believe so.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel related the facts in connection with the 
discovery of Matthew Mora’s will, and reminded them 
of their theory that it might have prevented the stain- 
ing of one side of the pocket. He then produced the 
will itself, and showing them the blood upon one side of 
it, remarked : 

“You see, we were correct. The murderer wore 
that plaid suit over his own clothing, and the blood 
soaked through. He thrust the will into his trousers’ 
pocket however, and thus the blood-stains found there 
are accounted for.” 

Mr. Barnes became greatly excited throughout this 
recital. 


332 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


“ Now we come to the point,” he cried. “ Your 
belief is that this will was placed in the pocket of Slippery 
Sam, on the night when he was killed, and that he him- 
self knew nothing of it ? ” 

“ Bravo ! Mr. Barnes ! That is precisely my idea.” 

“ Furthermore, you believe that the man who killed 
Mr. Mora, was the same who killed Slippery Sam ? ” 

“ Right again,” said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ Then once more I have you,” cried Mr. Barnes 
triumphantly. “ It was young Mora who murdered 
Slippery Sam.” 

Neither Mr. Mitchel nor Preacher Jim seemed as 
much impressed by this statement as the detective had 
evidently expected they would be. 

“ That is a strange assertion,” said Mr. Mitchel. 

“ All the circumstances point to it,” said Mr. Barnes, 
determined to convince his hearers. “ It was young 
Mora who owned those plaid trousers. The watch- 
man saw him wear them in and out of the house. 
The valet corroborates the statement of the watchman. 
Preacher Jim here advanced the theory that the mur- 
derer might have been half-dressed and the plaid suit 
might have been put on afterward. This would account 
for all the stains, and fit the theory that the murderer 
wore the suit over his own garments. Mora would ben- 
efit by the loss of his father’s will. Mora, therefore, 
having killed his father, abstracted the document, which 
he finally thrust into his pocket as he left the house. 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 333 

Then he leaves this suit at the Essex Street house, 
knowing that Slippery Sam occupied a room there, and 
half designing to throw the burden of his own guilt 
upon the shoulders of a known ‘ crook.’ Later he finds 
you, Mr. Mitchel, following up the case, and that you are 
on intimate terms with Slippery Sam. It became neces- 
sary to his safety to remove Sam. He did so.” 

“ This is all very well up to the last statement. He 
did so, you say. But how do you prove it ?” 

“ You may recall that I came upon the scene almost 
as soon as you did. I had been following Mora. He 
had been acting most suspicuously all the evening. 
That is, I was sure that he was endeavoring to discover 
whether he was followed or not. Perhaps he did so. 
At any rate he gave me the slip by entering a hotel which 
had several exits. I waited long enough to be sure 
that he was not coming out again at the door which I 
was watching, and then gave up the job. I started for 
your house, wishing to inform you of the death of 
Preacher Jim’s mother. I had only a few blocks to go, 
and was near to your street, when a man hurriedly 
brushed by me. I only saw his face for an instant, but 
it was Matthew Mora.” 

“ Matthew Mora ? ” 

“ Yes ! I gazed after him, undecided whether to follow 
him or not. I looked around, on an impulse, reckoning 
how near I might be to your place, and then I observed 
a man leaning over another who lay on the pavement. I 


334 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


went forward, and saw you bending over Slippery Sam, 
whom Mora undoubtedly had just killed.” 

“ No ! No ! Mr. Barnes. I am sorry. Very sorry 
that your fine castles must fall. But Mora is not guilty 
of murdering anyone. Certainly not of killing Slippery 
Sam.” 

“ How can you be so sure of that ? ” 

“ Have I not told you. I know who killed old Mora, 
and I know who killed Slippery Sam. They are one 
and the same, but the man is not Mora.” 

“ Did you witness the murder of Slippery Sam ? ” 

“ No ! ” 

“ Then you cannot be certain. There must be a 
doubt ! ” 

“Not a shadow of doubt ! ” 

“ Well then, who is the guilty man ? ” 

" Ah ! That I prefer not to tell you ! ” 

“ Do you mean that you will conceal your knowledg'e ? 
That you will protect the criminal ? ” 

“ My knowledge is not absolute in the sense that I 
have been a witness, or the recipient of a confession. It 
is knowledge gained by analytical deduction. Under 
those circumstances I do not feel bound to make a 
charge of murder against a man.” 

Mr. Barnes was silent, and Preacher Jim, who had 
been listening attentively, now spoke. 

“ I would be much interested to hear you tell the steps 
by which you have reached this conclusion,” said he, 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 


335 


“ even though I would not ask you to divulge the name 
against your will.” 

Mr. Mitchel looked at him sharply before replying, 
but he did not flinch. 

“Very well,” said Mr. Mitchel. “I will grant your 
request. I will tell you how I know who killed these 
men. In the first place I discussed this case with the 
man who committed the crime, though I did not suspect 
him at that time. During our theorizing I repeated Mr. 
Barnes’s argument that the murderer must have been ac- 
quainted with the internal arrangements of the house, 
because the weapon, a war club, had been taken from a 
case in the hall- below. This man in replying argued 
that the murderer did not need to know of the collection 
of weapons, because Matthew Mora had taken the club 
to bed with him. That was a fact which could not have 
been known to any one except the murderer. Conse- 
quently I knew at once that the man with whom I was 
speaking had himself committed the crime. What say 
you, Preacher Jim ? ” 

“ I say that the man made a slip of the tongue, 
and that you were very shrewd. Now tell us how 
you connect that man with the killing of Slippery 
Sam.” 

“ Mr. Barnes, you will recall the circumstance of your 
finding my match box near the body of Slippery Sam ? ” 

“ Yes. I returned it to you.” 

“ Very well ! I had loaned that to the murderer of 


336 THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 

Matthew Mora, and he had not returned it to me. What 
say you to that, Preacher Jim ? ” 

“ I say that you are clever in this also. One more 
question. Why do you hesitate to name this man ? Why 
do you not give him up to justice ?” 

“ Because I have given a promise to shield him if he 
should ever be in the predicament in which he now is.” 

“ You made a promise ? To whom ? ” exclaimed 
Preacher Jim, excitedly. 

“ That matters not. A promise is binding without re- 
gard to the identity of the person who exacted it.” 

“ It was — a woman ? ” 

Mr. Mitchel did not reply. 

“ It was to my — my mother ? Ha ! Ha ! You are a 
good man, Mr. Mitchel ! You keep faith. You would 
not betray ; but I will tell all.” 

“ Stop ! ” cried Mr. Mitchel ; but Preacher Jim, not 
heeding him, continued : 

“ I am the guilty man. I killed Matthew Mora. I 
killed Slippery Sam.” 

At this Mr. Barnes started from his chair, but a mo- 
ment later he sat down again, exclaiming : 

“ You the murderer of Matthew Mora ! Man, you are 
mad ! ” 

Mr. Mitchel sat still, and said nothing. An expression 
akin to pity and regret flitted across his countenance. 

“ Gentleman,” pursued Preacher Jim, “ I will tell you 
the whole story, for there is yet much that will surprise 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 


337 


you. Much that even you, Mr. Mitchel, do not suspect. 
But first let me ask you — tell me about my mother. You 
were with her while I went in search of a doctor. What 
happened ? How came you to make her a promise to 
shield me ? She did not know ? She did not suspect ? 
No, no ! It was impossible ! ” 

“Your mother told me the story of her life, and of 
yours. That is, she told me of your father, in whose 
history much that relates to yourself finds explanation, 
aye palliation. Your heritage was bad.” 

“ Ah ! She told about the old man, did she ? But 
what about the promise ? ” 

“ She feared that some day you would discover who 
your father is, and that then murder might be done. She 
had horrible nightmares, in which she dreamed that you 
had paid the supreme penalty of the law.” 

“ She was a prophet ! ” 

“ She argued that whatever wickedness existed in your 
nature you had inherited from your father, and she 
asked me if ever you should commit a crime, that I 
would exert my endeavors in your behalf. That I 
should reveal your bad ancestry, and urge that as a plea 
for leniency. This I promised to do, and this I will do.” 

“ It will be unnecessary ! ” 

“ Your mother intrusted to my care a number of let- 
ters and papers, in which, she said, I would find disclosed 
the identity of your father. Poor soul, she must have 

forgotten that in her anxiety to prevent you from learn- 
22 


338 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


ing the truth, she had taken precautions which left the 
documents practically useless. I examined them as soon 
as I found an opportunity, and wherever a name must 
have occurred, it had been cut out.” 

“ My poor mother ! She at least loved me, whatever 
wrong she did in bringing me into the world. But let 
me tell you of my crime. At the outset I will surprise 
you. For years I have loved Lilian Vale.” 

“You loved Lilian Vale?” exclaimed Mr. Mitchel. 
“ Extraordinary ! ” 

“ More so than you dream. Yes, I have loved her 
since she was a little child. I loved her then, and I 
loved her more as she blossomed into womanhood. 
But though I loved her faithfully, ardently, my passion 
was hopeless ! ” 

“ Why so ? Could you not win her affections in re- 
turn ? ” 

“ Perhaps ! I never sought to do so. You forget the 
advice which you heard me give to others in my lecture, 
my sermon I might call it. Do you think that I would 
tell other born criminals to deny themselves the pleasure 
of having offspring, and myself not have strength to 
abide by my own doctrine ? No ! I am a criminal. 
Congenitally a degenerate ! It was a crime to bring 
such as I am into the world. It would be a greater 
sin, for me to become a father ! ” 

“You are a strange combination of good and evil, 
Preacher Jim ! ” 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 


339 


“ That is true of all men. He who is considered 
wholly good, is merely one in whom the good greatly 
preponderates. The converse is also true, and the worst 
men have some good in their natures. That might be 
their salvation, were this truth recognized, and acted 
upon. But it is not. The whole world, save perhaps a 
very few who are regarded as fanatical dreamers, look 
upon the criminal’s case as hopeless — reformation 
impossible. He is merely a thing to be despised, to be 
hounded, to be imprisoned if he steals what he cannot 
earn ; to be slain if at length he turn upon those who 
have driven him to despair. This is the crime of civili- 
zation. It is the crime of the century.” 

“ Do you hear that, Mr. Barnes ? The crime of the 
century. Preacher Jim defines it for you. You thought 
it was the killing of Matthew Mora, but I told you that 
it was not the crime of any one man. Now you learn 
what it is. It is the blind bigotry with which boasted 
civilization tortures the degenerate products of its own 
vices, making hard laws for their punishment, and meas- 
uring their acts by the standards of sound and normal 
manhood. That, Mr. Barnes, is the crime of the cen- 
tury, a crime which must be eradicated in the next 
century, or else within another hundred years it will 
have wrought ruin upon the race.” 

“You are right, Mr. Mitchel. My own case is a bit- 
ter example of the truth of the doctrine which you 
advocate. I am what you aptly called a degenerate 


340 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


product of vice in another. I say this not as a plea for 
myself, but merely as an assertion of the truth. But let 
me continue. As I have said, I have always loved 
Lilian Vale, despite my recognition of the fact that she 
never could be mine. But soon a man named, or rather 
calling himself, Morton, came upon the scene. He was 
wealthy, as well as handsome. Just the sort of man to 
turn a young girl’s head. He won her heart. At first, 
when I saw him making love to her, I would have stran- 
gled him but for the constant effort which I always 
made to overcome my homicidal tendencies. Later, 
when I discovered that Lilian had learned to love the 
man, I would not have harmed him for all the world. 
And so he found the opportunity to win from her all 
that a girl should hold most sacred. I went away for a 
time, hoping that absence would give me strength to 
bear my loss, without yielding to the criminal proclivi- 
ties which merely smouldered within- my bosom. When 
I returned, I found that Lilian had become a mother. 
Again it was with the greatest difficulty that I refrained 
from murder, but the motive for such an act was merely 
jealousy. It was the fear of becoming the father of a 
child of hers ; of seeing in the beloved darling of my 
wife a reproduction of my own degenerate self, which 
had lost me my Lilian. And now to see her fondling 
the offspring of another, was hard indeed to bear. But 
I did not then know of the degradation into which he 
had plunged her. I thought they were indeed wedded 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 


341 


as they pretended to be. If I had known the truth, I 
would have killed him ! ” 

“ Poor fellow ! How you have suffered ! ” 

“ The weeks and the months rolled by. Slippery 
Sam, one of my trusted friends, from time to time occu- 
pied a room in the same house in which Lilian lived. 
He did this at my request, to bring me reliable news of 
all that occurred. I had a sort of presentiment that 
some day she would need my aid. The time came at 
length. One night I was with Slippery Sam in his 
room, when I heard a noise below. I listened, and felt 
sure that some one was moving about in Lilian’s room. 
I went back and brought out a candle. By its dim light 
I saw a man hurrying down stairs, carrying a bundle. I 
hastily followed. He walked swiftly through the dark 
streets, but I kept him in view. Finally he reached an 
old graveyard, and with difficulty climbed over the 
fence. Then I discovered his purpose. He had stolen 
Lilian’s child. I saw him strip off the single garment in 
which it was clad, and I saw him deposit the infant in 
the high grass. 

“ I was leaning against the wall, under the protecting 
shadow of a doorway next to the rail fence when he 
leaped back into the street, and hurried up town. I 
imagined that this was the husband, who thus took the 
first step towards abandoning poor Lilian. I was con- 
vulsed with rage, and sneaked along behind him, hesi- 
tating whether or not to strike him dead. As these 


342 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


thoughts were surging in my brain, the man ahead of me 
stepped into the light of an electric lamp at Chatham 
Square, and an instant later I saw his face, and recog- 
nized it. I say recognized it, for I knew him. It was 
Matthew Mora, the elder.” 

“ So, the old man had stolen the son’s child, in 
repayment of the blow which he had received ! ” 

“ Perhaps ! I knew nothing of that at the time. I 
was overcome by the intensity of the emotions that 
surged up about my heart. My brain seemed on fire ! 
My eyes became blind, so that the old man disappeared 
from my view. Everything was red before me. Blood 
color ! Blood seemed to flow about me ! The streets 
were covered with it, and it ran about in a rapid flood. 
Now it rose to my knees, now it reached to my waist, to 
my shoulders, to my neck. I experienced a sense of 
strangulation. I gasped, I reeled, and then in an instant 
all became clear again. My senses returned, and I ran 
forward to seize the fiend who was a little ahead of me: 
He was rushing up the steps of the Elevated railroad. I 
ran after him, mounting three steps at a time. But I 
reached the platform only in time to see him enter a 
train, and to have the gate slammed in my face, as the 
guard pulled the signal-cord. Well, I was powerless for 
the moment. But the craving for blood was in my heart 
and would not be appeased. The first reckless impulse 
of madness, however, had passed, and now gave place to 
cunning. I went back to the house where Morton lived, 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 


343 


and I searched his closet for a suit of clothing which 
would serve as a disguise. I found what you all now 
know as the plaid suit. My object in wearing that, was 
to create the suspicion of Morton’s guilt, for I had de- 
termined to kill old Mora, and the deed was already 
accomplished in my mind. He would be shown to have 
had provocation, by the clever detectives who would in- 
vestigate the case It would be discovered that the old 
man had stolen and abandoned the infant, and that would 
suffice as a motive. So I wore the suit and hastened to 
Mora’s house, the location of which was well known to 
me. I saw the watchman, and did not consider at the 
time why it was that he made no protest when I deftly 
unlocked the door with what he probably thought was a 
key. Of course he imagined that I was the son. I went 
in, and soon found old Mora’s room. He was in bed. 
He had the club beside him, and sat up as I entered. 
Instantly he began to abuse me. To taunt me with the 
loss of the child, which he boasted of having put out of 
the way. It was then, and from the words which he ad- 
dressed to me in the darkness, supposing that I was his 
son, that I discovered his relationship to my Lilian’s 
lover. This was a new and terrible shock to me. Again 
a turbid sea of blood engulfed me. The room seemed 
illuminated as with a glare of red fire. I saw the old 
man sitting there in his bed ; I saw the club at his side, 
and I sprung suddenly upon him and seized it. Then a 
desperate struggle began. He, too, caught hold of the 


344 


THE CRIME OF TIIE CENTURY. 


club. I wrestled with him and finally overpowered him. 
He fell to his knees, and I swung the club upward and 
swiftly downward. Whether I struck him once or 
many times, I will never know, and it is immaterial. 
The first blow probably ended all. As soon as he was 
still, I lighted the gas and ransacked his desk. I found 
the will, and immediately realized that it would be a 
powerful weapon in certain emergencies. It could be 
used to blackmail young Mora, in case he should escape 
the suspicion of this crime. This brings me to the plaid 
suit. I put it on over my own clothing, but after enter- 
ing the house I slipped it off, lest blood should fall upon 
it. Before I departed, I put it on again, for I knew then 
why the watchman had permitted me to pass, and I 
hoped that he would see me again as I left.” 

“I see. You wished to cast suspicion upon young 
Mora. That is why, when we were discussing the case, 
you expressed the opinion that the son had committed 
the crime ? ” 

“ No, you are only partially correct. At the time of 
the murder I thought only of protecting myself. The 
criminal impulse controlled me, and the little good that 
is in me was inactive for the time. But later I had no 
wish to see young Mora suffer. I needed not that for 
my own protection. And his death would have brought 
suffering to Lilian.” 

“ But you certainly expressed the opinion that Mat- 
thew Mora’s son killed him ? ” 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 345 

“ I did, and it was the truth. Matthew Mora’s son 
did kill him.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” exclaimed Mr. Mitchel. 

“ I am Matthew Mora’s son,” said Preacher Jim. 

“ You ? His son ? ” 

“ Yes ! I am the son of Matthew Mora and Margaret 
Crane. My mother always called me Matthew. You 
were wrong when you expressed the opinion that my 
mother cut out my father’s name from those letters. I 
found the letters one day, and so learned the truth. 
Later on I cut the names out in order that the secret 
might not be discovered by any one else.” 

“ This is indeed a surprising revelation. You Matthew 
Mora’s son ! It is like a tale of fiction ; and how very 
just is its ending. The man was murdered by the very 
child which he had abandoned, after bequeathing to 
him a heritage of crime.” 

“Yes, in the eyes of the law I am a murderer, who 
should be hanged. Perhaps in the eyes of the Almighty 
Father I am an instrument of Justice. Now that I have 
told you all, you will more readily comprehend the crav- 
ing for blood which seized me when in this monster, 
who had thus cruelly treated an infant, I recognized my 
own father. You will understand better how the second 
paroxysm attacked me in his room, when I learned that 
the man who had stolen my Lilian’s heart was my own 
brother, and that thus in spite of my self-sacrifice the 
offspring of my beloved would have a heritage of crime 


346 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


which traced back to my own progenitor. You will 
comprehend with what fiendish joy I sprang upon the 
man who was at once the author of my being, and of all 
my suffering and wrongs. You will see why I took the 
will which deprived my brother of one half of his for- 
tune. That is the story of the killing of Matthew Mora. 
Was it a murder? I will not ask for the verdict of my 
fellow men, but will abide by the decision of my Maker.” 

“ There is still one point which I would like to have 
explained,” said Mr. Barnes. “ Mora’s valet positively 
asserts that he saw his master in the house that night, 
and that he helped him to dress in the plaid suit. How 
do you account for that ? ” 

“Very easily,” said Preacher Jim. “ The valet only 
tells this story at my request. After the death of Slip- 
pery Sam I fully decided upon my own course. Upon 
one thing, however, I was determined. This man Mora, 
my own half-brother, should right the wrong which he 
had done to Lilian. I knew of his visits to the rich girl 
up town, and feared that it might be difficult to coerce 
him. The valet is a member of our organization, and 
therefore it was easy for me to gain his co-operation, and 
he readily consented to tell you the story which con- 
vinced you, Mr. Barnes, that Mora was guilty. Thus I 
hoped to have you arrest him, and when once more in 
custody I would have been able to bring him to terms 
by offering him his liberty, which he could only have 
obtained through my confession.” 


PREACHER jim’s last sermon. 347 

“ What will you do now ? ” asked Mr. Barnes. 

“ Ah, that is simple ! Thanks to Mr. Mitchel, my 
Ialian is now a lawful wife, with her babe restored to 
her. You see, I know all at last. My inhuman father 
is dead. My poor mother lies in her grave. Why 
should I live longer? Mr. Barnes, I deliver myself to 
you as your prisoner.” 

“ No, no, Mr. Barnes,” cried Mr. Mitchel. “ Do not 
touch him. This man shall go forth from my house, as 
he entered it, a free man.” 

“You are wrong, Mr. Mitchel, though I thank you 
most sincerely. I must surrender to the law. Why not 
let Mr. Barnes have the glory of seeming to have 
urnavelled the mystery, and claim Mora’s proffered 
reward ? ” 

“ I should not make such a claim,” retorted the detec- 
tive. 

“ No, I think you are a more honest man ! ” said 
Preacher Jim. “But if you hand me over to the 
authorities you will receive credit, and thus I shall do 
some good in the world. Besides, you have sufficiently 
earned Mora’s money, and ought to have it.” 

“ But why should you give yourself up at all ?” argued 
Mr. Mitchel. “ You have suffered so much that it would 
be an injustice for you to suffer more.” 

“It is inevitable, and it is best. You forget that I 
have committed a second murder. I killed Slippery 
Sam. That, too, was in a moment of uncontrollable 


348 


THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY. 


emotion. I had just witnessed the death of my mother ; 

I went forth into the street and ran along aimlessly. By 

# * 

chance I approached your doorway, and I saw Slippery 
Sam leave your house. Instantly I jumped to the con- 
clusion that he had betrayed me, for he knew the truth. 
He knew when I took the plaid suit, and when I returned 
it. In fact he knew everything. In the disordered state 
of my mind it was impossible for me to reason calmly. 
I seized Sam by the throat. He had a knife in his hand. 
I wrenched it from him, and killed him. As he fell, the 
cunning of the beast — no ! the cunning of the man 
who is worse than a beast — came to me. I knew that 
you would know of this murder committed so near your 
house ; I recalled the arguments and theories that we 
had exchanged, and I slipped the will into the poor 
dying boy’s pocket that you might find it there and be 
mystified.” 

“ It did puzzle me for a time,” admitted Mr. Mitchel. 

“And so you see,” said Preacher Jim, almost wearily, 
“ the end must come now. I cannot permit myself to 
live longer. My father was a Sadist. The love of 
cruelty which made him strangle a poor, defenceless 
monkey ; which caused him once to tie a boy up by his 
thumbs in a garret and leave him there until he fainted ; 
which prompted him to pinch, and kick, and otherwise 
torture children and animals, has been transmitted to 
me, his first born, his abandoned son, in a more viru- 
lent form. Twice I have yielded to the craving for 


PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. 349 

blood. Twice I have taken human life. I am a fiend in 
human guise ; a beast ; a monster ! Nothing is left for 
me on earth. No human love can be mine ! For me 
there is no charity ! No reformation ! No salvation ! 
I am a menace to my kind ! There is nothing for me 
but extermination. I must be condemned to die. All I 
ask is, that at the supreme moment when I am sentenced, 
I may be allowed to speak. To tell my story, that it 
may appeal to civilization, to humanity, in behalf of 
those utterly forlorn creatures, the congenital criminals. 
That will be my last sermon. And may God have 
mercy on my soul ! ” 


THE END. 


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